


Icarus

by Crollalanza



Series: Iwaoi - Philos Series [10]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, Gratuitous Harry Potter References, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Near Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 216,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: The horizon had been before them, the sun bright as they ventured towards their future. At Junior High, all Hajime had worried about was whether Tooru would burn out, whether he'd fly too close to the sun and collapse into a sea of despair.With Oikawa at university, and Hajime repeating a year, it should be possible for them to remain together. The distance is nothing to a pair who've been friends for years.However when he doesn't return to Seijou, but to the one school - and the one Setter - Tooru's never liked, their future looks to have snapped under the weight of history and perpetual arguments.And now Hajime feels he's  the one with wings of wood and wax, skeltering downwards, while Tooru flies on - not looking back.This is the final part of the Philos series.





	1. Fledgelings

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I say it's not necessary to read every part of a series to understand one of my stories, but it will probably help if you at least read Philos. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck by me as I've promised again and again that I am going to complete this story. I left you all on a horrible cliff hanger, and this has been a year in the writing, but here's the first chapter. 
> 
> This has been rated Teen and Up and for the most part it is. There's one chapter that veers into Mature territory and I'll warn when that happens.

**The First Summer**

“I’m the god of the wind!” Hajime shouts, and starts to jump up and down on the lawn, his fist raised in an approximation of Superman. “Zeff...Zeff ... uh ... what was it?”

“Zephyrus,” she says, and smiles at them both.

“So what am I then, Nee-san?” Tooru asks. “Is there another wind god? I want to fly too!”

“There are four,” Hoshiyo replies. She puts her sunglasses back on and stretches out on her lounger. “You’re casting shade. Move, Tooru-chan!”

“Tell me which one I can be!” he insists.

Hoshiyo appears to consider. “You’re not a wind. You’re more like Icarus.”

“Who?”

She sighs, and clearly knowing she’s not going to be left alone, Tooru’s sister sits back up, hugging her knees to her chest. Hajime stops jumping and joins Tooru on the grass at her feet. “He and his dad were being kept prisoners on an island.”

“Why?” Tooru asks.

“Uh ... his Dad was a craftsman, and he’d upset the king, or something.” She sniffs. “Anyway, so they could escape, his Dad built them wings out of wax and feathers, and they took to the sky.”

Tooru’s eyes are round. “So cool. I can fly! Yeah, that’s me. I’m a bird, Iwa-chan!”He leaps back up, upsetting her drink. “Oops!”

“Ha, well, that’s where you’re wrong,” Hoshiyo says, cuffing him around the head. “Icarus was reckless and didn’t listen to what he was told, so he flew too high.”

“So?” Hajime asks, puzzled because what could be bad about flying?

Linking her thumbs together, Hoshiyo mimes a bird flapping its wings, and zooming around both their heads. “He didn’t listen to his Daddy, and flew too close to the sun, so the wax in his wings melted and Icarus...” She clicks her tongue, turns her fingers to claws, and crashes her hands down on the lounger. “Now go away. I want to sunbathe.”

“B-but ...”

“But what? That’s the story,” she snaps. “I didn’t make it up. The Greeks did.”

“Why didn’t his daddy save him?” Tooru asks. “If he had wings, he could have flown to the rescue.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t get there in time. Maybe he was pissed his kid didn’t do what he was told.” She smirked. “Maybe Icarus talked too much and his sister shot him with an arrow!”

“Not fair. Icarus sounds cool, but not if he dies. Tell me another story, Nee-san.”

She doesn’t lift her glasses this time. “Nah, I’m kidding, Zephyrus came along and blew Icarus to a different island.”

“I thought you said he died!” Tooru exclaimed.

“I lied. Now go away.”

***

 

**April – eleven years later.**

There was a pair of eyes studying him.

There were several looking his way, but Hajime noticed this pair in particular because they were different. The guy wasn’t noticeable, with quite nondescript features and a placid expression, but there was a glimmer of interest in them, despite their sleepiness, and as Hajime locked looks, he felt sure there was also some recognition.

_Fuck._

He pulled at his collar, wondering how soon he could ditch the jacket, because he wasn’t sure he could take the constriction round his neck for much longer, and tried to listen to the girl next to him as she finished her speech.

“Um ... so I transferred here from H-Hiroshima and I haven’t seen much of Miyagi, but I really like the beach.” She laughed – it was a nervous habit, he thought, the same way that she twirled at a tress of her hair, making valiant efforts to stop, before returning when she started a new sentence.  “My best subjects are Literature and Art. I would like to join the anime club. I love strawberry ice-cream sodas and anything with polka dots.” She gave a bow and a smile. “Thank you. Please take care of me.”

They clapped politely, and some of the girls smiled at her as she blushed and stepped back.

“Iwaizumi-kun,” the teacher nudged.

Taking a deep breath, wrinkling up his nose as he took in the air, Hajime stepped to the front. He cleared his throat, running over the scenarios in his head. He could lie. Tell them he was from Tokyo. The sensei knew the truth, but was she really going to correct him? She might respect his circumstances, but then again he didn’t want her cornering him after class to offer advice or even worse a shoulder to cry on.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he began, and then straightened up, staring right to the back of the room. His hands were shaking so he stuffed them behind his back, tensing his arms so his shoulders stayed firm.  “My best subjects are Languages and Humanities. I’m pretty good at Mathematics. Science is the subject I need to work on. I’m shit ... uh ...” he blinked and muttered a sorry while the class tittered. “I’m not very good at art or drama.”

He stepped back, then after a small cough from the teacher, bowed. “Please take care of me.”

“Any questions for our three new students?” the teacher asked.

A flurry of hands, and Hajime feigned politeness as he listened to the girls alongside him being asked where they were from, and what they thought of Miyagi, and did they like the uniform. One girl glanced at him, then with a slight pout to her lips asked, “Iwaizumi-san, do you have a girlfriend?”

There was laughter and a despairing sigh from the teacher who stage whispered that he didn’t have to answer that.  But Hajime shrugged. He considered his options: the straightforward ‘no’, the dishonest but politic ‘yes’ or the ‘for the last five and a half months I was fucking my best friend’ and in spite of himself he had to bite back a smile, turning it into a glower. “No girlfriend and no time,” he replied.

“Anything else for Iwaizumi-san? A sensible question, perhaps,” the teacher called out. She was surveying the room, and then snapped her attention back, an assessing smile on her lips, and then she nodded. “Go ahead, Ennoshita-kun.”

Ennoshita? He couldn’t place the name, but there was something, _something_ about him, and all at once, Hajime felt nervous.

The boy’s voice was quiet, but clear, and yet there was a wavering hesitancy in it. He got to his feet, running his hands down his trousers before clearing his throat. “Iwaizumi-san,” he said. “You didn’t mention after-school activities. Do you have any plans?”

The teacher laughed. “You’ll have to forgive Ennoshita; he’s the captain of one of our teams and is out to recruit.  Volleyball, isn’t it?”

Ennoshita assented, his eyes boring into Hajime, and suddenly he didn’t look at all sleepy. 

“They did well last year,” the teacher continued, “and made it to Nationals.”

“Really?”  Hajime hoped his face was impassive.

“Iwaizumi-san,” his questioner repeated. “Are you –”

His scowl must have silenced Ennoshita, but he didn’t look away. He waited, his hands now folded low in front of him, his stance respectful.

_I fucked up my exams and now have to retake the fucking year because no college is going to offer me a fucking scholarship now._

“I had an injury last year,” Hajime replied finally. “I have no plans to join any sports clubs. I am here to study.”

“If that’s all,” the teacher said, a smile on her face. “Welcome, all three of you, to Karasuno High.”

 

The first thing he noticed about Karasuno High, apart from the goddawful uniform (seriously, how the fuck was he supposed to walk around with his button done up that tight all the time?) was how invisible he was. At Seijou, he’d barely been able to walk down a corridor without someone calling his name, waving, or giving him a double thumbs up. There he was known. He was ‘Hey, it’s Hajime!’ or ‘Ace-san!’ Here he was ... no one, which suited him fine. A new guy, and one that wasn’t giving away any more than he had to.

The trouble was, there were at least (he did a quick calculation in his head) at least eleven people at Karasuno who knew his story – or thought they did.  ( _No, there’s that manager as well, the blonde one, so twelve._ )  Still he could keep his head down, concentrate on lessons, and ignore any other distractions.

It was better that way.

The bell went. It was an actual bell reverberating around the classroom, and not the pips he was used to at Seijou and he started in his seat. Around him, the others were packing up their books in bags, some bowling towards the door, while others reached into their desks to pull out bento boxes.

No one had spoken to him since registration. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. It was possible it was a normal thing because the class as a whole seemed quiet, which surprised him because it was larger than his old class, and -

_Stop thinking about Seijou._

“Iwaizumi-san.”

It was Ennoshita. He’d known it would be.

“Yep?”

“Would you like me to show you where the cafeteria is?” he said, respectful, polite, his fingers interlaced.

“I brought my own,” he mumbled, his eyes flickering upwards as he added belatedly, “Thanks.”

“Or the water fountains.” His lips twitched. “The good ones, as in the water fountains that work and don’t squirt when you’re least expecting it.”

“I have water.”

“The coffee machine then?”

“I’m fine.” Pointedly opening up his bag, he pulled out a magazine, and started to flick through it. “Thank you.”

“Ah, volleyball monthly.”

 _Fuck_ – he’d picked the first one he’d found under his bed, not really checking what it was.

“It’s old,” he muttered, then closing it, he pushed it across the desk to Ennoshita. “D’you want it?”

“I’ve read it. I have a collection at home. It’s useful.”

“Sure.” The silence was sticking, but short of actually telling the guy to piss off he wasn’t sure how else he could get him to leave.

“You don’t have to stay in here for lunch. We have some tables outside, or you can sit in the cafeteria with food. They’re not that strict unless it’s the library and ... well ... no food or drink of any sort in there because ... well ... you know.”

“Why are you here?” Hajime snapped.

Ennoshita blinked. “Oh, you’ve been assigned to me, just for a week or so until you’ve found your feet.”

“They’re on the ends of my legs,” he deadpanned.

Unsure whether it was a joke, Ennoshita didn’t laugh. Hajime was pleased because if he had, he wasn’t sure if he’d have hit him or not.

Instead, Ennoshita removed something from his bag, sliding it across the desk.

“What’s this?” Hajime muttered, picking up a folded sheet of stiff paper.

“Map of the school. I thought it might be useful.”

“I have one in my planner.”

“You do, yes, but this one...” His lips twitched. “This one has other things highlighted, _and_ tells you the best times to grab lunch or snacks.”

“What?”

“Wednesday is bad,” Ennoshita warned. “The first years have PE in the morning and are desperate for food, so the cafeteria is awash with them. And as most of the boys hate showers, you can ... uh ... guess what it’s like.”

Hajime unfolded the map. Ennoshita had colour coded it as well, classrooms shaded, toilets marked, even the water fountains had been included. And two buildings in a greenish blue around the back of the school.

“Nice try,” he murmured, just as the teacher lifted her gaze towards them. He slid the map back.

“Pardon.”

“Gymnasiums marked in turquoise. Is that supposed to make me feel at home?”

“No, it’s because I ran out of colours,” Ennoshita breathed. “I’d already used orange for Humanities, and black is too dark.”

“I’m not joining your volleyball team.”

“Mmm, you might not get on,” Ennoshita agreed, his face so neutral Hajime knew he was trying to provoke him.

He smiled back, not his tight ‘don’t fuck with me’ smile, but something more relaxed. “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed. “Benchwarming must be a fucking pain in the arse.”

A direct hit, and yet Ennoshita’s expression didn’t crack. “It is, yes, but it makes getting on to play even more important.”  Running his fingers a through his hair, Ennoshita took a breath before adding, “Anyway, this is really just to let you know I’m here if you need anything.”

“I’m not a baby,” Hajime started to mutter, then did a double take. “Hold on. You’ve been assigned to me. Out of thirty kids in this class, they pick you.”

He was smiling. “I volunteered.”

“Why?”

“You’re Seijou’s ace. I’m the Karasuno captain. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I was the ace. I don’t play anymore. So if this is some attempt to get me to play for your side, then-”

Holding up his hands, palms flat, he took a step away. “Hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Really?” He rolled his eyes.

“Maybe it had. Iwaizumi-san, it’s not every day that a player of your talent appears in front of me, but.” He licked his lips and continued hurriedly before Hajime could speak, “You mentioned your injury and that you’re not joining any clubs, and I respect that.”

“Then why are you here? Why did you volunteer?”

“I thought you might appreciate a friendly face, even one framed in black,” he replied, then bowed. “I can see I was wrong.”

It was only after Ennoshita had left the room, joining a classmate at the door, that Hajime realised he’d been burnt.

 

Of course, once Ennoshita had left and didn’t look as if he were coming back, Hajime needed a piss and he couldn’t remember where the nearest toilets were. He thought about asking the other two occupants of the classroom, but as they were two girls currently shrieking like banshees along to something they were watching on their phones, he decided against. He eased out of his chair, wincing only a little at the stiffness in his knee, and collecting his rubbish, he wandered out of the classroom, trying to make it look as if he knew where he was going.

At one end of the corridor, students were clumped together, others were scurrying around, leaflets in their hands, giving them out to anyone passing. Perfecting his ‘fuck off face’, Hajime mooched past them, eyes ostensibly on the floor, shrugging himself further into the gakuran (he didn’t think of it as ‘his’ it felt too strange).  It was when he was about to turn the corner, certain the toilets were close by, that he did a double take.  Ahead of him, barging against each other, were two figures. Unlike with Ennoshita, he recognised them immediately.  And also, unlike his encounter with Ennoshita, this pair he didn’t have to interact with on any level. At least not yet.

“So, you think we’ll get many new sign ups?” said the shorter of the two, the guy Hajime recognised not just from his stature but the fleck of blonde hair he’d twisted into a  quiff.

 _Nishinoya Yuu._ Turning the most ballistic of spikes into cotton wall balls.

His companion – Tanaka, he remembered -- rolled his shoulders. He already looked as if he’d been in school for a term, his shirt untucked and the buttons on his jacket undone. “Yacchan did a great poster. We got to Nationals, so ... I dunno ... we should get some.” He grinned. “I wanna be a senpai again.”

 “I want another Libero. One I can mentor.” Nishinoya flicked up his hair. “We should get going. Chikara wants us all handing out fliers.”

“Yeah, sure. Just need a slash first.”

_Fuck, he’s going to that toilet._

His bladder protesting, Hajime turned on his heel and scooted the other way. Barging inside the first toilets he saw, he ignored the urinals and closeted himself into a cubical. Once there, the first thing he did was wrench at the dumb button at his throat. Only then did he fully relieve himself, letting out an audible groan. 

_I’ve made it through one morning. I can stay in class, keep my head down, and even though I know Ennoshita is gonna tell them, I’m here, I don’t have to speak to them. I don’t need any of that crap._

He snapped his head back, zipped up his flies, then unlocked the door.

“Good morning... no ... it’s afternoon,” chirped a voice.

Looking across from the sink, trying to locate whoever was addressing him, Hajime couldn’t see a soul. He shook his head, thinking he’d imagined it.

“Good afternoon,” it repeated. “And welcome to Kara... hmm... Maybe I should say my name first.”

_Huh?_

The voice was behind him, and not from the stalls. There was no one else visible. The only thing Hajime could see was the toilets’ door moving, back and forward, as if someone was unsure about coming in.

“Mmm, my name is better. And a smile.”

The door gaped wider, and now Hajime could see a backpack, and one leg.  The figure spun round, using his foot to prop open the door, and stumbled in. His face completely obscured by a net bag full of volleyballs.

“My name,” repeated the boy, blundering in “is– aghh-” He stumbled, righted himself but in the process dropped the bag of balls.

It was too late to reach a cubical. Far too late, for in bending down to retrieve them, Hinata Shouyou had glanced across the room, looked away, and then, with wide eyes and abject horror on his face flinched and shrieked.

“SEIJOU’S ACE!”

_Of all my fucking luck._

“Hinata-kun,” Hajime muttered.

“B-but ...” He gaped. “You’re here. In the bathrooms.” He blinked. “Why?”

“Why do most people visit the bathroom?”

“Uh ... well ... for me it’s ‘cause I need to puke or poop or pee. Most times before a match, it’s like all three, but at school I don’t puke.” He laughed nervously, the sound high pitched, reminding Hajime acutely of the new girl in class.

“Right well, great as this is. I gotta go.”

“S-sure.” Hinata swallowed. “When you gotta go, you gotta go, that’s what I always say. Toilets are ... um ... all free. I could ... uh ... I’ll go. Leave you to ... uh...”

“I mean get back to class.” 

“C-class? Right.”

“So...” Grabbing a paper towel, he dried his hands, grateful that the action was steadying, then lobbed it powerfully into the bin.

“Mmm?”

“You’re in my way.”

“Ah...” Hinata sidestepped, eyeing Hajime warily. “Um ... you’re wearing a Karasuno uniform.”

“Ten out of ten for observation,” he growled.

“So ... uh ...” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes now even wider, his gaze questioning. “Why?”


	2. How do you breathe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month earlier ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are five flashback chapters coming up, and the titles are lyrics taken from Karma Killer by Robbie Williams. 
> 
> This chapter has Mature content towards the end.

**March**

The paper held between his thumb and forefinger is uncreased, fluttering from the extractor fan air as Hajime stares down to process the information. He tries squinting, looking up to the ceiling, then back at the writing. His hands still – he manages that much composure – as he places it back on the kitchen table.

“I don’t want poached eggs!” one of his brothers says. He’s not sure which one, but it’s probably Koji who’s the fussier of the two.

His mum doesn’t reprimand him. She doesn’t lean over to cuff his ear. Nor does she ladle the food in front of him and say he’ll get what he’s given. She’s motionless. One hand holding the pan containing the offending eggs, the other catches in her hair, frozen as she waits.

“Hajime-kun,” his dad breaks the silence. “Hajime...” Pausing, he peers through his glasses across the table at his son, a smile on his face. “Are you going to tell us the good news?”

His throat is dry. And at that moment he will give _anything_ – anything at all - to be able to raise his eyes glare at them all, get everyone terrified before he splits his face with a beaming smile and roars to the world that he’s passed so _fucking_ well that his scholarship place is in the bag. And his mum won’t slap him for swearing, and his dad will thump him on the back saying ‘he knew it’, and his brothers will roll their eyes but exchange covert grins because they’re beyond happy for him.

He blinks at the paper, wondering if the words have changed in the millisecond since he last checked. Or maybe – his heart sticks in his throat -  the name’s wrong and they’ve sent someone else’s results.

**Iwaizumi H.**

It’s his.

“Hajime?”

He lifts his head, drawn out of the dullness of his rumination and met his mum’s eyes.

Ding dong ding dong ding dong. Thump thump thump.

“Open up, I have coffee and croissants! But the cups are hot. Iwa-chan, Help me!”

“It’s Tooru niisan!” Saburo cries, wriggling away from the table. “Croissants! Great.”

_Oh._ Hajime shakes his head slightly, _it’s Saburo who complains about poached eggs. How the fuck have I mixed them up?_

“Good morning, Iwaizumi-san,” Oikawa says, greeting his mum with a low and extravagant bow.  “Saburo-chan, take this bag. No, not the coffees. You don’t want to spill them. Iwa-chan, I got you a vanilla latte this time. Not as strong so you won’t be hyped up and then crash before we get to school.”

“Oikawa. This ... uh ...” He swallows, still not able to tear his eyes away from his mum’s, and he sees the realisation in her eyes, the greyness, and her mouth dropping open before she clamps it tight shut and swallows.

“Hajime, come on! Tell us!” His dad is still joking, but there’s an edge of unease now. He beckons to Oikawa, then getting to his feet, takes the cardboard tray of coffees from him and set them on the table.

“Such a tease!  I can’t believe you haven’t texted me with the good...” Oikawa starts talking, then tails off as he pulls up a chair.“Iwa-chan?”

He can’t put it off any longer. It’s the worst joke if he continues this way. Biting back a shudder, he stares back at the paper, before sliding it across to his dad. “Sorry,” he rasps. “They’re not good enough.”

Pushing back his chair, hearing the scrape of its legs on the floor, he blunders from the kitchen. The sweat on his brow, and his clammy hands are at odds with a heart that’s strangely silent, and he wonders, right then, if maybe this is all some fucking awful dream because he’d had a few since the accident.

There’s a bitter taste at the back of his throat, but it’s only when his hands grip his stomach and he wretches into the toilet bowl that he realises it’s bile. He hears a sound against the door, not the rattle of the handle, but more of a brushing, like the swish of the net when they pull it across the court before play starts. There’s no accompanying tap, but there’s someone there waiting. Alongside his dry retches, he can almost hear the breaths.

“It’s not the end, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says.

And he wants to believe him, he wants this not to be the decimation of his future.  But the path ahead, the route he’s been gearing up for all through High School, has been blocked by another avalanche of circumstance and all he can see are the rocks.

“I said I’d wait.”

“Don’t talk such fucking shit.”

“Hajime!”  His dad raps on the door.

Expecting a rebuke for swearing, he glowers at his hands, and mutters something approaching an apology.

“I have to go to work,” his dad replies. “We’ll talk tonight. Don’t worry.”

It’s the disappointment in his voice that causes Hajime to retch again. He’s let them down, let everyone down and it’s no one’s fault but his own.

“You better go to school,” he says when the retching’s stopped.

“Not without you,” Oikawa replies firmly, and the door creaks a bit as if he’s pressing tighter against it. “You need to come out. Koji-chan is fidgeting like mad and if he doesn’t get to pee soon, he’ll burst.”

“Fuck this.”

 

They cut school after registration. It’s Oikawa’s idea, saying that lessons are so informal this close to graduation, that no one will notice they’re missing. Hajime’s pretty sure that’s not true, but he doesn’t care, and right at that moment he can’t face the looks from his teachers.

_You need to think carefully about continuing volleyball, Iwaizumi-kun._

_Law is competitive and you must have the best results – even if you’re not going for an academic scholarship._

_My advice to your son, Iwaizumi-san, is that he retires after the Inter-Highs._

Then he’d landed a sports scholarship and had a week of smirking ‘I told you so’.

A week before his life was as torn as the tendon in his knee.

 

At Oikawa’s house, he sits on the floor, leans against the bed and tilting his head back, he stares at the ceiling. Oikawa’s mostly silent. He makes both of them fresh coffee, and offers to heat up the croissants, but Hajime shrugs a no. He tries to clear his mind by counting the marks on Oikawa’s ceiling, the patches where the florescent stars they’d once spent an afternoon sticking up there have fallen off. But remembering that afternoon, not bothering with a stepladder, but jumping from Oikawa’s bed, landing on top of each other to shrieks and giggles, makes the lump in his throat solidify.

They have so much together.

“Iwa-chan.”

“What?”

“It’s not the end.”

“What the fuck do you know?” he says, but it’s soft. He can’t argue. He’s gone beyond that now.

Oikawa is lying on the bed, propped on his front, and staring into Hajime’s eyes. He’s not smiling. There’s no hint of humour, scorn or pity, his eyes instead are brimming with sincerity.

“Maybe the college will reconsider. You _are_ back to fitness now.”

“Not match fitness, and you know that,” he mutters.

“Or ...” Oikawa swallows. He turns and lies on his back, but his fingers begin to tease through Hajime’s hair. “Maybe your dad will realise he can afford it. Investment for the future and-”

“They’ve invested enough,” Hajime replies shortly.

“But surely they realise that when you’re a lawyer you’ll be earning-”

“Not quickly enough to give the Chibis their chance,” Hajime replies. Sighing, he raises one of his hands, catching Oikawa’s and bringing it to his lips. “They’ve got two lots of Kitigawa fees to pay soon.”

 “Retake, then?” Oikawa suggests.

“Cram colleges are expensive. I doubt my parents can lay their hands on a lump sum,” he snaps and rubs at his eyes. His head is pounding, a continuous circle because he’d known, even if his parents and Oikawa didn’t, that he couldn’t count on his results. There’d been something lacking the day of the exams, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever had in the first place.

“Other colleges,” Oikawa persists. “You don’t have to attend that one. And maybe a different college will offer a scholarship.”

 “Can we ... _not_?” he murmurs.

And Oikawa shuts up for once, his fingers stop ruffling Hajime’s hair, instead resting momentarily on his cheek, before he slithers off the bed. “Movie or music?”

“Neither.”

“Hmm?”

Hajime grabs him, tugging at Oikawa’s wrist until he topples over. “Let’s fuck.”

It’s not usually like this. In the past, it’s always been Oikawa wanting to forget, needing validation and succour, but here now, as he crashes his mouth to Oikawa’s, biting at his lip, and gripping his waist tight, it’s Hajime demanding oblivion. Hajime’s hand is already at Oikawa’s waistband, moulding his palm of his crotch. There are no smiles, no words, just contact and breaths, as Oikawa loops his fingers into Hajime’s trousers and pulls down. Lowering his head, Oikawa nuzzles at his stomach through his shirt.

“A fuck,” Hajime clarifies, pulling away, one his hand under Oikawa’s chin, the other wrenching at his fly button. He tugs off his trousers, rips down his pants, his compelling need making him forget their usual preliminaries. No soft kisses, no teasing, no jokes, an absence of warm breaths and hands smoothing across every inch of skin. “Condom?”

There’s a pause as Oikawa shuffles to his knees and lays his hands on Hajime’s shoulders. “I don’t have any.”

There must have been something on his face, maybe the shadows were darker, or his scowl deeper because Oikawa backtracks, pulling away for Hajime to stare into his eyes. He gives a slight, resigned smile, and reaches across to his sock drawer pulling out a much squeezed tube. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I have this, so we can ... this once ... it’s not a problem.”

But it is.  Hajime wants to fuck him. Or to be fucked. He wants it hard and rough, edges scratching, cutting into each other, grasping hands, and sharp teeth. He wants bruises, and aches, hair pulling, nails digging. He wants marks and pain - anything to chase away the burn inside of him.  Oikawa’s already bracing himself against the bed, one hand still in Hajime’s, a flush on his cheeks and a gaping air of trepidation enveloping him, far too compliant. There’s no sparks, and repartee, no teasing words, no mockery. There’s  silence, apart from short intakes of breath and a shuffling apart of knees on the carpet.

_He’s okay with this,_ Hajime thinks briefly, and leans over. He presses his lips to Oikawa’s neck, taking in the clean taste of his skin. And in that moment, Hajime’s caught between wanting to hit and wanting to fuck and that’s when he realises that nothing will be okay again. It’s gone and he slumps to the floor.

“Iwa-chan?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“Hajime.” The word is soft and tender. Oikawa turns around and shuffles next to him. “Come here,” he whispers and his hands reach out to bring him close.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime mutters.

“We’ll get through this. It will be okay. It will work out. I promise.” Oikawa’s reassurance, soft as a summer breeze wisps around him, but Hajime’s too dead inside to listen. Their faces touch, Oikawa kissing his lips, his chin, sweeping up to his eyelids and temple, and all the while he continues to whisper, ‘I’m here. I’m here. This isn’t the end.’

There are tears on his cheeks, but Hajime’s dry-eyed, and it hits him then, a guilty thrust to his side that he’s responsible not just for fucking up his own life, but Tooru’s too.

Tooru’s hand is resting on Hajime’s thigh, but when they start to kiss, he slides it upwards, his fingertips like feathers dusting Hajime’s cock. A groan catches at the back of his throat, and encouraged, Oikawa grips him and starts to pulse his hand up and down.

It’s quick and nothing special. A moment of relief while anger and unutterable defeat tug at him. But it’s Tooru with him, Tooru pressing his lips to Hajime’s mouth, not asking for, not demanding anything, but giving what he can.

A matter of minutes later, they hear the front door. Tooru lets out a yelp, grabbing his clothes and making himself decent, then lobbing a packet of tissues at Hajime, before he races down the stairs.

“Mum, is that you?”

“Mmm,” her voice is distant. As he wipes himself off, Hajime imagines her in the kitchen making a list for their housekeeper, or perhaps she’s sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine, an expression of perpetual boredom and disdain furrowing her brow. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“Free period,” Oikawa lies. “I came back with Iwa-chan to collect something. I thought you were spending the day with Nee-san.”

“Takeru’s ill,” she explains, then raises her voice. “Hajime-kun, would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh...” In a second, he’s pulling in his pants and trousers, zipping up the flies and tucking in his shirt – but not too well because he’s never that neat. “I already have one, thank you, Oikawa-san.”

“We should be heading back, anyway,” Oikawa says clearly. “Iwa-chan, don’t forget the magazine you wanted.”

“Yeah, already got it,” he calls, grabbing one from under Oikawa’s bed.

As he blunders out of Oikawa’s bedroom, diverting into the bathroom to dispose of the sodden tissues and wash his hands, he stares at himself in the mirror. He wonders if the shadows under his eyes were always there, or whether it’s the result of four months with so little sleep. Plodding down the stairs, scuffing his shoes on each step, the familiar scent of Oikawa’s mother’s perfume assails his nostrils. Roses and money, elegance and sophistication –the fragrance lingers, cloying at him.  _Not for you, not for you_ it seems to whisper.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah, yeah, on my way.”

“Do you still want to bunk off?” Oikawa murmurs, car keys in his hand. “We could drive somewhere.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs. “Can’t put off the careers advisor forever, can I?”

“Things will work out, you know,” Oikawa says, with absolute certainty. “They always do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was first planning this story, around two years ago, Karma Killer was one of the songs that stuck in my head.


	3. Why don't you cry?

**March**

_What if things don’t work out?_

The question plagues Tooru with far more regularity than he will ever admit to Hajime. Because not everything does work out - he’s learnt the hard way.

Destiny is a fickle master.

There’d been a belief they’d defeat Shiratorizawa. Not just Tooru against Ushijima  - not only Oikawa and Iwa-chan bringing him down – but the team. Seijou. Oikawa, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, Watari, Kindaichi, Kunimi ... Kyoutani. Taking them on as a team. Yahaba urging them on, taking control on the sidelines when necessary. That would be the way they’d defeat Shiratorizawa and claim their time in the sun at Nationals.

But they’d fallen – not even at the final hurdle, but the penultimate – pecked at and harried by a team in black. Inelegant. Loud. Their plays screeching their ascendancy.

And since then, Tooru’s knows that not everything comes right just because you wish it for it hard, night on night for years on end.

“Good day at school,” his mum calls from the lounge as he lets himself in.

“Not bad,” he replies. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checks his messages. Nothing new, but then Iwa-chan’s dad won’t be home yet.

“You’re looking pensive, Tooru-chan.”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs, and lowers his head to kiss her on the cheek.

“There’s something bothering you.”

“Hmm?” His eyes flick back to his phone, but it was a message from Mattsun flashing through, something about a final practise session then food after with the other third years. “No, everything’s good.”

“Then you don’t need to be quite so attached to your phone, do you,” she says, the reprimand soft but there.

“Sorry.” He pockets the phone, then sits on the sofa, smiling across at her. “I’m waiting for Iwa-chan.”

“You have plans tonight?” Her eyebrows are raised.

“Possibly.”

“You spent all weekend with him, and at school. I thought Mondays were your day off from practice.”

“It’s not volleyball,” he replies.

“Good. Then we can eat together.  We could go out, if you’d like. Just the two of us.”

“Sure,” he muttered, not really listening.  Then he shook his head. “I ... I’d rather stay at home. Iwa-chan will be calling and I know you don’t like me taking my phone with me when we go out.”

“One evening, Tooru,” she says. “I’m sure you can catch up tomorrow. Anywhere you like.”

She’s not usually this persistant, but he guesses that as his father’s away and her plans with his sister had fallen through, she’s desperate for company. And maybe he should go out with her, and on a normal day, he would. But this is not a normal day.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “it is important.”

“Darling.” Her voice has a touch of steel in it, and it’s clear it’s not just a meal out she’s after. “You spend your waking moments with Hajime-kun. And High School volleyball is over-”

His phone interrupts her speech and he should ignore it, but he recognises the tone immediately and without even an apologetic grin, pulls it out.

**[Dad’s home. We’ve talked.]**

His fingers become slimy with sweat, and although he can hear his mum squawking something, he shuts her out, frowning at the screen.

**_[AND!!!]_** he types.

**[CAn i C U?]**

He’s abbreviating. Using text speak which he hates. The sign he’s either mad as hell or unsure what is going on.

**_[Of course. Shall I meet you? I could pick you up.]_ **

There’s a pause, and Tooru can see so very clearly the breaths Hajime’s taking as he decides.

**[I’ll bike it.]**

Is that a good sign?  He’s not sure, but maybe riding over will vent any fury he’s holding inside. As long as he’s not too fast, too furious, too distressed to see the roads and –

**_[Are you sure? I can collect you!]_ **

**[Yeah, I’m fine.]** The typing is back to normal. Tooru heaves his chest with relief.

He apologises for the third time. “Mum, Iwa-chan’s on his way over. We have things to talk about.”

There’s a very audible huff, and then she responds, her voice icy. “Soon you’ll be at college, and no doubt the pair of you will be _inseparable_ there. All I am asking is that we spend some time together. I am your mother, Tooru-chan, and you owe _me_ some consideration.”

“Mum!” And he doesn’t mean to snap because he knows she’s dreading him going but he needs her to listen for once, instead of railing at him. “Mum,” he says in a softer tone. “He didn’t get the grades he needed. And ... I need to be here for him. _Please_ understand.”

Her brow creases, her eyes become beady. “What does this mean? Is he going to university? Or... what? Will he get a job?”

Hushing her with a vague flapping hand gesture and a shrug, Tooru answers as he walks away, “I don’t know yet.  I’m going to shower.”

“Tooru,” she reels him back into the room with the adeptness of a spider’s silken thread.

“Mmm?”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I know,” he replies, because that’s what she wants to hear. But they both know he’s lying.

“It’s not up to you to solve his failure.”

He stiffens at her word choice, recognising her challenge and also the authority that she will exert if necessary. 

“He didn’t _fail_ ,” he says slowly, but his mind is ticking over nineteen to the dozen. “He still has a place on the law course ... just ... not the scholarship.”

“That’s _unfortunate_.”  Her tone implies it’s anything but. Her tone implies that the Iwaizumi boy doesn’t deserve it as he hasn’t worked. And Tooru can’t quite work out why because she’s always liked Iwa-chan, declaring occasionally that he’s a good influence on him.

Except ... not at the beginning. She’d taken one look at the fierce looking boy in the scuffed trainers and dusty knees and decided he was rough.

He turns around, staring into her eyes, the glimmer of an idea beginning to spark. But he keeps his expression passive, knowing he’ll have to box cleverly, and not just around her.

“It’s an excellent course. One of the best in Japan, so it’s an achievement in itself being offered a place.”

His mum blinks first, and with a smile, he turns away, heading up the stairs and towards his shower.

 

He hears the front door opening when he’s winding a towel around his waist. Rubbing his scalp with another, he wastes a few moments staring at his reflection, using his fingers to card his hair into place, and then hurries into his bedroom. It’s as he’s picking out a fresh shirt to wear that he realises Iwa-chan has not made his way up to his room, as he normally does, so it either wasn’t him at the door, or else ... He cracks open his bedroom door and hears a very definite conversation. An offer of tea, and a gruff but polite acceptance.

Breathing in, Tooru smiles to himself as he pulls on his clothes.

Iwa-chan’s a little flushed when sees him – the consequence of cycling in the wind currently rattling at the windows, but apart from that he looks ... fine. Not elated, but not defeated. There’s a definite relaxation of his shoulders, but there’s also a certain wariness in his eyes as his attention flicks from Tooru to his mum.

“Are you staying for dinner?” she asks, her smile not quite displaying teeth.

“Uh...” He shakes his head. “I need to get back, just ... um ... wanted to speak to ... uh ...”

“Tooru,” she supplies, and gets to her feet. “I’ll bring in a tray in a while. Leave the pair of you to chat.”

Tooru hovers when she leaves, waiting for Hajime to speak because if he does first then maybe this spell will break. Hajime’s appearance, his steady hands and even steadier breaths are giving him hope. But what if that’s misplaced?

“So -” Hajime coughs.

“What did-” Tooru says.

A pause.

“No, you go on,” they both say, then laugh a bit.

“Your story,” Tooru breaks the silence. “I’m listening.”

“Right, well. Dad’s been thinking. He got home earlier than usual and ... uh ... it’s not as grim as I kind of thought. I mean –”

“You _can_ go to college!” Holding his breath, Tooru finally moves and sits on the sofa next to him.

“Uh ... well ... sort of. Right, these are the options. I retake and try for next year.”

“Retake?”

“The whole year.”

“Ah, okay.”

_He could be Captain._

“There’s also a possibility of cram college, so I’d retake in a matter of months, then maybe get a job while I wait for next year.”

“Okay.” Tooru inhales, then stretching out his fingers, he tentatively touches Hajime on the wrist. “What about this year? Can you ... ah ... will you be able to -”

He shakes his head, and it’s like slow motion. “Not Tokyo,” he murmurs. His eyes dart furtively to the ground then flick to Tooru’s face. “It’s not affordable without any scholarship. But ... uh ... Mum thinks that maybe if I applied to Sendai ...”

“Stay here, you mean.” Slumping back on the sofa, Tooru takes it in. The plans they’d made are gone. The team they were going to bombard, the apartment they’d planned to share, the ... just everything they would have done together no longer exists. And he wants to rail. He wants to insist this can be put right, that Iwa-chan cannot possibly be thinking of three years in Sendai when the course in Tokyo is there for the taking.

But he can’t push.

“It’s an option. The course isn’t bad, but it’s not what I want,” Hajime mutters and fiddles with his sleeve. “And I’d be stuck here. The best part about Tokyo was the chance for internships, whereas here it’s ... you know ... the local solicitors and a part time job at weekends. Dad’s not for it either.”

“So what have you decided?”

“Uh...” Hajime laughs a little. He shuffles back, stares up at the ceiling and then twists his head sideways to gaze at Tooru. “Not decided anything yet, but if I can do another year at Seijou, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Yahaba-chan will welcome having you around,” Tooru replies, and for a moment he’s wistful as he imagines Seijou’s new team. It will be rough around the edges for a while, but exciting and new, something he can’t be a part of.

“Hmm, don’t think so.”

“Of course he will! You can keep Mad Dog under control.”

“No... no, I mean that if I go back, then I won’t be playing. I’m still not fit, Oikawa. I’d struggle with training, let alone playing.”

“You’ll soon be back in shape.” With his tongue poking between his teeth, he rests his hand on Hajime’s arm, squeezing his bicep.

“Tooru, make space on the table,” says his mother  walking in with a tray of tea, which Hajime immediately gets to his feet to take from her, thanking her profusely.

There are three cups on the tray, and as he mum takes a seat on the armchair opposite, Tooru knows she wants to ‘chat’. He glares at her, hoping she’ll take the hint and make an excuse, but she’s already pouring the tea, and turning her attention to Iwa-chan.

There are a few breaths of silence, broken only by her as she lifts the cup to her lips, taking one quick sip before returning to the saucer. “So, what are you boys talking about?”

“Nothing much,” Tooru mutters keeping eye contact, hoping she’ll make an excuse and leave them soon. He thinks about telling her they’re going to his bedroom, but Iwa-chan’s already picked up his cup.

“Uh... it’s my exam results, Oikawa-san,” he mumbles. Then he winces and lets out a stifled groan, which clears his throat and head. “I haven’t done well enough to earn the scholarship for college. Things are kind of up in the air.”

“Oh.” She elongates the word to four syllables then presses her lips together. “Surely there must be a way.”

“Uh ... possibly. Just not yet.”

“What are the options, then?” she asks, leaning forward.

“Uh... well, retaking, I guess. I could repeat the year. If I get back to fitness then there’s a chance I’ll get a volleyball scholarship, but ...” He winces. “I’m not gonna count on that.”

“And cram colleges? I hear they have good results.”

Hajime nods. “Possible. But not guaranteed.”

His mum pauses the conversation. There’s a very definite silence as they all wait for her to speak, and then after another drink of tea, she picks at her nail before facing them both.

“University is not for everyone.”

“Mum!”

“Tch!” she dismisses Tooru with a hand wave. “Your father didn’t go. He considered it a waste of three years.”

“Completely different! Iwa-chan wants to be a lawyer. You need a degree for that.”

Her expression tautens. “Your sister wanted to be an artist and look what happened there...” Before Tooru can protest even more, she taps the coffee table with her nails. “Hajime-kun, all I am saying is that not going to college isn’t the end of the world. You might well find your niche elsewhere.”

“I s’pose,” he mumbles. But although he seems fine with her suggestion, Tooru hears the cup chink too many times against the saucer as he puts it back.

“Tooru’s father would be able to help. They’re always on the lookout for eager school leavers. And the education you have so far is excellent.”

“Mum!” Tooru protests and this time he won’t keep quiet. “This isn’t helping. Iwa-chan doesn’t want a job. He wants to go to college so he can get a better job. Three years of studying, longer for Iwa-chan, and the chance for college volleyball. He had a scholarship there. A sports one, so he’s earned his place there. It’s not his fault that he was injured. It’s NOT!”

“Oikawa, it’s fine,” Iwa-chan chides as he gives him a soft punch.

She doesn’t look annoyed that he’s spoken out like this. Her expression is serious, sincere even, the colour deepening in her eyes as she encompasses the pair of them. “Tooru-chan,” she says, her voice clear. “It’s not your fault either.”

 


	4. Why was I never good enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the delay in updating. I had to move out for a while and the wifi blocked A03 -insert shocked face here-
> 
> Anyway, have this, and I'll post another chapter at the weekend :D

**March**

The journey to Little Tykes seems to take far longer in silence. Hajime thinks about asking his mum to switch the radio on, or even leaning through the gap between the two front seats and turning it on himself, but that would involve movement. But movement might make his parents think now is the time to talk.

And it isn’t.

Hajime’s not even sure what’s left to talk about. Yeah, there’s always the idea that he should aim lower, be pleased with what he managed to achieve (as the Principal so kindly put it) and work with what he’s already got, but to Hajime it all smacks of failure and standing still.

His mum is pushing her head into the headrest. She looks tired and her hand has been over her mouth as if to stifle a yawn for most of the afternoon, now he thinks about it. As the Spring sunshine catches her face through the window, she closes her eyes. He can see a faint smudge of eyeshadow glittering on her lids,yet another sign that she’d made an effort. Switching shifts, both his parents were determined to take this to the wire, argue Hajime’s case and leave no avenue unexplored.

But the blocks had been in place before they’d set foot in the school. The Principal only seeing them, Hajime thinks, as a matter of courtesy.

His dad pulls into a parking space. He doesn’t immediately open the door, but let’s out a sigh before turning to his wife. “Are you coming in?”

“No, I need a few minutes. You and Hajime go.”

“I’ll go and leave you both, if you want,” Hajime offers.

There’s no reply, but his dad opens both of their doors and waits for Hajime to shuffle out of the back.

He tries another sorry, adding it to the list, but his Dad lets out a deeper sigh. “I’m not blaming you, Hajime-kun,” he says as they start walking. “And your mum will be fine. She wants the best for you, yes?”

He nods, compliant and weary, because now this is a scratched record, an eternal loop of ‘sorrys’ and ‘there must be something we can dos’.

“I could get a job. That would help.”

“I don’t think delivering pizza will cover the shortfall,” his dad remarks. The he sighs for the third time.  “We shouldn’t have asked. This set your hopes soaring again.” He falters. “Sorry, Hajime-kun.”

This apology sets Hajime burning. Flames behind his eye sockets, dryness rasping at his throat, he struggles for words, helpless as a sob escapes from his lips. 

“We will think of something, okay?” his Dad murmurs and places his hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “It’s not over ‘til the fat lady sings.”

“Huh?”

A slight laugh bubbles in his dad’s throat. “In your terminology... hmm ... Maybe it’s time for the Pinch Server.”

“Dad... what?”

“Time to think of something different.”

“A different course. But law ...is ...”

“No, a different way of achieving the same objective. Isn’t that why you send in a different guy to serve?”

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

He stops walking and raises one hand in the air. “Right, I can see the boys and Tooru, so why don’t I take them home, and the pair of you can grab food somewhere?”

Scuffing his polished shoes on the gravel, Hajime peers across to his dad, checking his expression. But he’s half -smiling, and from him the suggestions are never loaded. “You sure? I don’t mind looking after the Chibis if you and mum want to go out... or something.”

Koji is bounding towards them, his smile a beam, his cheeks flushed with happiness and exercise. Saburo is more circumspect, walking alongside Oikawa, a drink in his hand, but there’s a grin on his face.

“Tooru-chan!” Hajime’s dad calls, even as he squashes Koji to him. “Thank you for taking care of them. What do I owe you?”

“Oh ... nothing...” Oikawa replies. He bows a little.

“Tooru,” Hajime’s dad warns. “I must owe you something.”

“Few yen for drinks,” Oikawa concedes. “But really, it was nothing.”

“But we took up your time.”

He shrugs. “I would have been here anyway. Sabu-chan’s spike is getting very powerful, Iwa-chan. You need to watch out. And Koji ...” his eyes widen as he smiles. “Koji can jump. I had to check he didn’t have springs in his trainers.”

It’s a change of subject, Oikawa’s adept at them, glossing over any need for money, to be paid for his time. And Hajime knows he hasn’t felt put upon because he’s known the twins for almost as long as he’s known Hajime, so in his eyes he’s done nothing that a brother wouldn’t do. But Hajime’s father hates thinking that way. So he calculates the cost of the drinks, doubles it because he knows they probably had a snack as well, and then hands over more money to Hajime, telling him to treat Tooru when they’re out.

They watch the three of them head back to the car, and then Oikawa touches Hajime lightly on the shoulder and steps closer. The smell of fresh sweat - the exaltation of exercise – assails Hajime, and right at that moment, he aches to collapse into Oikawa’s arms, to rest his head in the crook of his shoulder, inhale deep and know everything will be right again.

“You’re very quiet,” Oikawa murmurs.

He closes his eyes, wondering if he can delay this conversation, but it will come out, and from Oikawa’s tone, he’s guessed already. “Seijou said I can repeat the year,” he begins, neutrally enough, “but on full fees.”

“But ... you’re still as smart!”The outrage in his voice almost makes Hajime smile. “And you can still play!”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t spiked a ball in match since ... well ... you know.”

“That’s not the point!  Was Irihata-san there?”

Hajime nodded.

“And?”

“Not integral to the team.”  He says the words lightly; they’d hit him with the force of a stone dropping into a still pond – but with inverse ripples shaking his core. “Face it, he’s looking to the future, Oikawa, I’m not that. If I made it back onto the team, I’d be out after Inter-Highs this time.”

“Appeal! They can’t do this, Iwa-chan!” he says, and grabs Hajime’s arm

“It’s their school. They don’t have to accept anyone.” He shrugs away a casualness he doesn’t feel. “Longshot – I think I knew that. Dad thought it worth a try, Mum ...” And then his eyes itch again, tears stinging at his lashes. “I don’t want to go home yet. Wanna grab food somewhere?”

***

Graduation dawns, blossom on the trees, a day full of sadness and high hopes. A time for them to reflect on everything Aobajousai High has meant to them. As Hajime accepts his certificate, and a louder peal of applause ripples through the assembled audience (because he _had_ been popular, he _had_ achieved good marks) he hears a chant begin – not from the parents, but starting with the guys he’s graduating with.

_Push it, push it, Hajime!_

A simple refrain, one that catches on until soon the parents are joining in, delighted that something is breaking up the formality of the day.

He accepts his certificate, bows before the Principal and the former Allumni, who’s making a name for himself in government, and then turns a rather grim smile back to his peers. 

“Push it, push it, HAJIME!” they shout louder.

Catching his dad’s eye, seeing his mum smile, his grimace becomes a wobbling smile, and then the cheers become louder whoops as he punches the air.

Because this is his school. Whatever happens next, he’s had three amazing years here, and no one can take that away. His results were good, among the best in the school (and for Seijou that’s saying a lot) just not _quite_ good enough.

There’s a clamour of expectation before Oikawa takes to the stage. A hush, a brief lull, and then, as he takes his first step, just as the Principal announces his name, there’s a crescendo of sound, both male and female voices. Oikawa flashes his smile around the room. It’s wide, non-calculating and utterly genuine, and just as the roar reaches its peak, he mimes the serve action that wreaked such destruction.

_We might not have made it to Nationals,_ they’re saying, _but you took us closer than before._

Oikawa’s supposed to slide in next to the boy who preceded him onto the dais, but he walks with deliberation towards Hajime, slipping into a non-existent space, with a wink and a sudden bite of his lower lip. He squeezes Hajime’s shoulder, and the gesture’s lost on no one. _We won’t be separated yet._

 

There’s fragrant tea and delicate sushi served after the ceremony. Hajime’s chatting with his friends and he strolls over towards his parents. Oikawa’s a few steps behind, stopping every now and then to greet other parents, or say thank you to girls who waylay him with pink envelopes, or beautifully wrapped brownies.

His dad is talking to Oikawa’s dad, sharing something funny, he assumes, as both appear to be laughing. Oikawa’s mum is standing on the edge of the group, her eyes scanning the crowds, although not – he thinks – searching for her son, who is now jogging to catch up to them all. Hajime’s mum has changed out of her usual jeans and t shirts, and is wearing the dress she bought for a wedding. It suits her, and she suits the atmosphere here today, despite Hajime knowing she’d far rather be in the park and running around with her three boys.

“Shall I get you more tea?” he offers, but she shakes her head.

“I have water.”

“How about some food?” Oikawa asks, encompassing everyone in the offer, inclining his head and offering up his most charming smile.

Hajime’s eyes narrow, but all the same, he heads off with Oikawa to raid the sushi bar, selecting several varieties before they return with two plates piled high.

Unusually Hajime’s mum shakes her head, picking up her glass instead, but she helps herself to some slivers of ginger on the side, and nibbles at some of the watercress.

And Hajime’s struck again with how tired she looks. The cloud on his horizon affecting them all, threatening now to blight even this brightest of days.

“Ah, Hajime-kun. It’s good to see you,” Oikawa’s dad greets him, all bonhomie and arched eyebrows. “You had quite a fanclub going up there.”

“Volleyball,” he mutters, then coughs. “Oikawa’s was louder. Typical glory grabber!”

“So competitive, Iwa-chan.” He mock pouts then laughs, helping himself to a stray prawn and smearing with wasabi.

“Such excellent results,” Oikawa’s mum puts in. Her hand drifts to Oikawa’s cheek, smoothing a few stray strands of hair off his cheek with an air of chiding emphasized by her next words. “You could have done better, Tooru-chan. Thank goodness volleyball meant your grades weren’t as vital, that’s all I can say.”

The silence is momentary, and then a clatter of teacups on saucers, and a bluster of voices as everyone tries to bring the conversation back on track.

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” Oikawa’s mum continues, two pink spots appearing on her face. “With your results, Hajime-kun, you have every reason to be proud. I’m sure you’ll be able to carry them everywhere.”

“Just not where _he_ wants to go.” Hajime’s mum’s voice is far quieter than normal, and he wonders if it’s the formality of the day, or whether she’s tired of all of this, but still they all turn their heads to listen. “And I’m proud of my son, too. We both are.”

“Marvellous achievement.”  Oikawa’s dad makes it sound more than it is, as if it were unexpected that he’d do as well. Clapping his hand on Hajime’s back, he draws him closer. “You know, my firm can always use school leavers of Hajime’s quality, you know.”

“Uh... that’s not-” Hajime starts to say as he wriggles free.

“University’s not for everyone,” he crows, puffing out his chest in a ‘look at me’ gesture.

“I didn’t have the opportunity,” Hajime’s dad replies slowly. “And perhaps in our day, it wasn’t as important, but I think my son deserves the chance to see whether he’s suited.”

 “He wants to be a lawyer,” Hajime’s mum says – her voice cool. “Not a ... stockbroker.”

“We have a law department,” Oikawa’s dad continues. “A bright young lad like yourself, Hajime, _could_ work his way up in no time.”

The emphasis implies the unspoken words ‘with the right attitude’. Hajime tries to take more steps away, in his mind at least, but everyone’s chipping in now, his mum’s tone veering on belligerence because she refuses to be patronised.

“Isn’t a degree better, Dad?” Oikawa’s saying. He’s licking his lips – the sure sign he’s about to say more. It’s as if he’s gearing up for his Captains speech.

_Oh, no, don’t do this._

And Hajime wants more than anything to break into the conversation, to stop whatever suggestions are flying around between them all, but his throat his dry and every word sticks behind his teeth.

“We look at calibre and potential first, Tooru.”

“But you sponsor students, don’t you?” he asks his dad.

“There’s a graduate training programme.” He slows down, then turns imperiously. “Are you interested in business studies, Hajime-kun?”

“I meant in Law,” Oikawa interrupts. “You said you had a law department.”

He leaves the statement hanging in the air.

“Contract Law, yes. And where it pertains to the business.” He flashes a look at his wife. “They helped with our relocation from England, do you remember?”

“I remember that awful house they found us when we first moved back,” she replies, self-consciously shuddering.

“That’s not the area my son’s interested in,” Hajime’s mum says.

“Is that so?”

But no one’s asking Hajime. No one’s even looking at him. The debate on his future, one he can see is bubbling furiously through the polite smiles and pleasantries around them, is between five people not six.

“Okay, so say your company does sponsor law students,” Oikawa persists. “How could Iwa-chan apply?”

_Oh for fucks sake._

Everyone whips around to face Hajime and he realises he’s spoken aloud. Oikawa’s grinning, the excited gleam in his eyes ever present.

“How about it, Dad?”

“Stop this,” Hajime hisses. “Stop it now.”

_How the fuck could you?_ his eyes plead.

“Tooru-kun, don’t,” Hajime’s dad says softly. “Now is not the time.”

“Father’s leaving after this, so isn’t it the ideal time?” Oikawa says, rounding on them all. “You could organise this, couldn’t you?”

“Possibly,” he replied, selecting another sushi roll. “Although it would have to be a special case, and probably not for this year.”

“But I’m sure you could persuade them,” Oikawa says, and for someone who’s so perceptive on court, who can read every play before it happens, he seems curiously unaware that Hajime’s parents are stiffening, their hackles raised.

“Can we stop talking about this?” Hajime says abruptly.

 “Excuse me, Iwaizumi-san.” Oikawa bows his head, looking perplexed now as he holds his hands up in supplication. “I don’t mean to be rude, but if Iwa-chan can’t repeat the year at Seijou, then getting a sponsor for university isn’t a bad option, is it?”

“If Hajime hadn’t been so caught up with volleyball, with you, Tooru-kun, then perhaps we wouldn’t need to talk about this,” his mum snaps. “As it is, he has other options without relying on charity.”

“But it’s not charity!”

“Oikawa, shut the fuck up!” Hajime doesn’t even bother to whisper. His low growl is audible to them all, but his dad doesn’t chide him. He’s staring at something in the distance, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I can see your sensei over there, Hajime,” he says, and tucking his hand into his wife’s arm, he takes a step away. “We must thank him for all he’s done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles for the flashback chapters (ch2-6) are all taken from Karma Killer by Robbie Williams which obsessed me when I was planning this.


	5. How come you never ask me why?

**March**

“Hey, do you reckon checking your phone makes time go faster.”

Hanamaki yawns, hand over his mouth, and pulls himself up to sitting on the grass. “No idea,” he says. “Why are you asking?”

“Because Tooru obviously thinks it does,” Matsukawa drawls, recrossing his legs. “What is it with you, today?”

“He’s late,” Tooru snaps. “And I don’t have long. Mum wants me back by six because-”

“You’re going away for Spring Break. Yeah, we know!” Mattsun retorts.

“He’ll be here,” Hanamaki replies. “Isn’t he going to look round schools?”

Tooru nods, but he’s distracted and it’s not until Mattsun throws a scrunched up ball of paper at him, that he looks up from his phone. “Sorry?”

“I asked which schools he is looking at.”

“I’m not sure. Ougiminami is closest, but ... uh ...”

“He needs a flick knife to get through the door,” Hanamaki replies with his customary smirk.

“Can you imagine Hajime there?” Mattsun tilts his head up towards the sky. “In his first week he’ll either be head bitch or expelled – it’s a toss-up.”

“I don’t think they’d seriously consider it,” Tooru murmurs and tries to make it look as if he’s not fretting by picking at a blade of grass and splitting it with his nail. “There’s Wakutani, of course.”

Slyly, Hanamaki toe-pokes Tooru.   “Good team, too.”

Tooru purses his lips, not wanting to think about Hajime playing for someone else. He shakes his head. It’s not him playing for another team that bothers him, more the fact that Tooru won’t be there.

“Don’t sulk,” Mattsun says. “You want him fit, don’t you?”

 “Of course, I do, but his mum wants him to concentrate on his results this time, that’s the problem, so I’m not sure he’ll join a club.” He scowls and picks away at a hangnail.

“Tough dilemma,” Hanamaki murmurs. He stretches out again, and this time his leg brushes against Mattsun’s, who makes no attempt to move.  “Shame he can’t go back to Seijou. Yahaba-kun’s gonna need all the support he can get with Kyoutani.”

“I said I could drop in from time to time,” Mattsun replies, his eyes still open as he scans the sky. “Don’t want to cast a shadow, though, but Kindaichi-kun’s still so green.”

“Reckless, too,” Tooru agrees.

“Only against Karasuno,” Hanamaki says. “And he’ll be calmer without us there, I think.”

“Why’s that?” Tooru asks and frowns at them. “I was very good at calming the team down!”

They both laugh. It’s instant, spontaneous and not at all choreographed, and Tooru scowls again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were a _great_ captain,” Mattsun soothes. “But ... uh ... I think Kindaichi felt he had to impress you most of the time. _Especially_ against Karasuno.”

There’s a small well of silence, and then Hanamaki takes a deeper breath, exhaling through his teeth. “By the look of my timetable, I’ll have two free afternoons. I was thinking about dropping by to help.”

“D’you want to?” Mattsun asks, his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle as he questions him.

“I thought you’d be playing,” Tooru says. He lowers himself onto his stomach, propping his chin in his hands. “There’s a team at Sendai, surely.”

“Yeah... but ...” Closing his eyes, Makki takes more breaths, the last one ragged. “Won’t be the same.”

“Could be better.” Tooru snatches up some grass, sprinkling it onto Makki’s head and smirking when he’s scowled at. “You should continue to play. And you, Mattsun.”

“Yeah, well, that depends. I’m going to be really busy _working_ for a living, unlike you guys.”

“The boss’s son. You can skive off. Has to be one of the perks.”

Matsukawa snorts. “You’ve met my dad. You really think he’s gonna go easy on me?”

Tooru considers and then shakes his head ruefully. Mattsun’s dad owns a garage business and car dealership. Working hard for the vast majority of his life, he has three outlets across Miyagi. And ever since Tooru had met him, he’s been impressing on them all that his son would be joining him in the family firm.

“Are you okay staying here?” he asks, and it’s for the first time because he’s been so caught up in wanting to leave Miyagi, that he’s never really thought about it before.

Mattsun shrugs. “I like cars. Dad wants me to learn every aspect of the business, so it’s not like I’m not gonna be doing something I hate. And ... uh ... I was never gonna get decent enough grades to go to college, even if I had stopped after the Inter-Highs.”

“And you?” Tooru queries, turning to Makki. “Why are you staying?”

In reply, Hanamaki reaches into a carrier bag and tosses him a folder. The Sendai University logo’s emblazoned on the front, and as it falls in front of Tooru, several leaflets fall out bearing pictures of past students, smiling at the camera in chefs’ hats and aprons.

“It’s a good course,” Makki explains. “I don’t need to head outside Miyagi for that.” Then he grins, and flicking through the leaflets, he pulls out another one. There’s a girl on the front wearing glasses, and a boy wearing the sort of outfit (tank top and badly fitting sensible trousers) that Tooru’s grandmother would think suitable, and both are standing beside a large telescope. “Look, they even have an Astronomy class for nerds like you, Oikawa!”

 “But don’t you want to leave?” Tooru asks, not the least deflected. “Or leave home, at least?”

“I will,” he replies. “In the second year there’s a chance to work away. They hook you up with hotels if you want, so I could travel that way, but ... uh ... I’d like to stay around a little longer.”

And Tooru’s not imagining the covert glances the pair of them are exchanging.  “You two are so married,” he says, and mimes being sick.

“And you want ‘Iwa-chan’ to come with you to Tokyo for what reason exactly?” Mattsun replies in his lazy way.

“That’s different!”

It’s Makki who snorts. “I can’t believe you asked your dad to pay for Hajime’s tuition.”

“It’s sponsorship!”

“Oh, come on!” Mattsun starts to laugh. He has a deep rowl of a laugh, which starts as a chuckle before shuddering through him. “Oikawa, it amounts to the same thing. You asked daddy to pay for your boyfriend!”

“Rubbish. Utter crap! His company sponsor students. It... it’s just the same as Iwa-chan applying for a bursary, only it’s a private source.”

“From a company that weren’t interested before. It’s the same thing!”

“No, it isn’t!” Tooru huffs, adamant.

“Well, Iwaizumi-san obviously thought it was,” Hanamaki says. “And, come on, you must have known they’d be pissed at you.”

“Why?”

Matsukawa glances at him. “You’ve known Hajime for what, ten years?”

“Nearly eleven.”

“Where do you think he gets that pride from, Oikawa? Like, he’s inherited it from both sides! Why do you think he took defeat so hard?”

“Why do you think he was Seijou’s ace,” Hanamaki says more pertinently.

“I thought I was helping,” Tooru says mutinously.

Hanamaki flicks him on the forehead, each tap punctuating his words. “You – _flick_ -didn’t- _flick_ -think- _flick-_ at- _flick_ -all.”

Tooru thinks about it, thinks how Hajime didn’t smile for the rest of that afternoon, his face morphing into a sulk and a scowl, and although he’d not said a word, hadn’t mentioned it since, he’d not gone back to Tooru’s afterwards, as they’d planned, to sleepover.

“His mum thinks he should go to Sendai,” he says gloomily. “Which means three years instead of one.”

“He won’t if he doesn’t want to,” Mattsun reasons.

“He will if he feels he has an obligation. He can live at home, too, and get a part time job,” Tooru replies. He picks up Makki’s folder in his hands and glares at the logo. “Gods I wish ... I wish ... wish I had a time machine.”

“What particular moment would you change? Losing to Shiratorizawa at Inter-Highs, maybe?” Hanamaki asks. “We could have retired then. Gone out on a glorious high!”

“I’d have still played,” Mattsun says yawning. “Grades were never my thing.”

“I’d have hated giving up. Besides, if we’d won that match and then retired, it’s quite possible Iwa-chan wouldn’t have got his scholarship in the first place. We were all much better players at Spring High. His serve especially.” Tooru clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’d change that bloody semi-final. Take down my kouhai and then Ushiwaka.

“Or ...” Twisting his head as he rethinks, Tooru closes his eyes, willing the memories not to flood his brain, but all he can see is his view as he’d watched from the changing room door. Iwa-chan lunging for a ball, taking off on one foot, and the agony on his face, searing straight into Tooru before he’d even heard his cry. “That practise match.”

“Don’t start that again,” Mattsun says, his tone caught somewhere between sympathy and complaint.

“You can’t change it now,” Makki adds. “None of us can.”

“I know ... but...” A shadow falls over him, blighting his reality much as his thoughts darken his mind.

“But nothing,” says another voice.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru jumps in surprise, pleased but also annoyed. “You’re an hour late!”

“Had things to do. I did tell you,” he mutters and lowers himself to the ground. He’s wearing his smart clothes – grey trousers, clean and pressed, and a white shirt with a tie, and he spreads his jacket over the grass to sit on.

“Where did you get to? I thought the last interview was at two.”

“Yeah ... uh ... got delayed.” He sounds evasive, not quite catching Tooru’s eyes. “Anyway, I’m here now. In time, I guess, as it sounds like you’re about to wallow in more self-pity than usual, Oikawa.”

Clearly sensing that a change of subject is needed, Matsukawa begins to question him about the schools he’s seen, and Tooru listens, not yet venturing an opinion, although in his mind, he’s still hoping a miracle will happen and the Iwaizumis will have seen sense about his father’s funding.

_There’s still time,_ he thinks _. Dad could sort this out in a matter of days._

“Wakatun’s okay,” Iwa-chan’s saying. “Small, but they have a college prep class.” He waves his hand, twisting it from side to side. “We looked at Date-Tech yesterday, but ...”

“You’re not going there!” Tooru splutters, watching Iwa-chan’s expression very carefully.

His mouth twitches. “Nah, I’m not. It’s got spaces, that’s all. But it’s more vocational.”

“ _And_ you’d have to put up with Futakuchi.”

Hajime starts to grin. “I’m kind of used to annoying pricks, though. He’d make me feel I’d not left Seijou.”

“Oikawa mentioned Ougiminami,” Mattsun says, his face straight.

“Yeah, right, because stepping round pools of blood is just what I need,” he jokes. But there’s still an air of nervousness about him, his fingers twitching as he plucks at his shirtsleeve.

“Anywhere else?”

“Not sure... but ... uh ...” Hajime swallows, and then, just as Tooru thinks he’s about to speak, his eyes shift sideways, focusing on something under Tooru’s elbow. “What’s this?” he asks, picking up one of the leaflets that had fallen out of Hanamaki’s folder.

“Makki’s,” Tooru says hurriedly, eager for Hajime to speak and not get waylaid by a petty distraction. “Go on. Where else are you considering?”

There’s a silence. It’s almost deafening, and Tooru wonders why his heart is beating so loud, unless it’s Hajime’s in time with his own.

“It’s more than considering,” Hajime mumbles, after a while. And then he clears his throat, and although he still can’t quite meet Tooru’s eyes, his voice is steady when he finally speaks. “Karasuno.”

Tooru whacks him on the arm. “Don’t tease, Iwa-chan!”

“I’m not.”

“No, come on; tell us where you _really_ looked at?” He grins. “It’s Johzenji, isn’t it? That’s not a bad school, Iwa-chan, and, look, I know your mum will shoot me for suggesting it, but you could definitely train with them – might be fun.”

“Oikawa -”

“They have a decent basketball team as well, but they’re pretty good, so I doubt you’d get a game being on the short side.”

“It’s not Johzenji-”

“Valour and Simplicity,” Tooru ploughs on, and starts to laugh. “Suits you, Iwa-chan, especially as you are so very simple.” He ducks to avoid the inevitable blow, but it doesn’t come and all at once, he’s aware that he’s the only one laughing, and all of them are looking at him.

“I don’t think he’s joking,” Mattsun says.

Tooru’s chuckles, tossing his hair out of his twinkling eyes, utterly confident. “Of course he is. Iwa-chan, tell them!”

And then Hajime meets his eyes, locking looks and although there’s a faint splash of colour splodging his cheeks, Hajime doesn’t falter. “It’s not a joke. I looked around Karasuno. We had an interview with the Dean, too.”

“But you’re not going.”

“They’ve offered me a place.”

“But,” Tooru repeats. “You are _not_ going.”

Hajime holds his gaze.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Makki’s voice is awed. He blinks several times, and then nudges Mattsun. “He’s serious, isn’t he?”

“He fucking is,” Mattsun breathes. “Fuck me.”

“Oh, please. You can stop kidding me now!” Tooru says scornfully, and makes a big play of rolling his eyes, just so they all know he’s not the slightest bit fooled. “This is the most ridiculous of jokes. When did you plan it?”

“Tooru...”

And then he knows it’s not a joke. It’s not because Matsukawa and Hanamaki are staring open-mouthed at Hajime, nor is it because none of them have burst into laughter.

_Tooru..._

He’s not staring at Iwa-chan anymore. His childhood friend. His teammate. His vice captain. His ace. The boy he fucks. Iwa-chan is _not_ sitting on the grass beside him. He’s _not_ absentmindedly chewing the side of his thumb, tearing at the cuticle until it bleeds. He’s _not_ staring at Tooru, his eyes intense and dark.

 All that’s there is a swirl of shapes, light and bright, turquoise and blinding, a fuzz of black hair, and a figure whiplashing towards him as he tosses a ball the full width of the court. But the ball does not speed to its destiny, and instead of a victory valiantly fought and earned, he’s staring through the net at another black haired boy. One who doesn’t smile, but snarls and pouts and can’t even speak without a grudge in his voice, whose very existence only shows Tooru what he is lacking.

_Fuck you._

“Tooru?”

“You can’t go there.”

“Uh... I don’t think it’s your call...” Makki starts to say, trailing off when Mattsun nudges him.

 “Karasuno?” Tooru blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah...”

“With _him_. Tobio-chan,” he clarifies, just in case Iwa-chan was in any doubt.

“Yeah,” he repeats. “Karasuno have a place. They have two college prep classes.” He swallows. “And a good rep for getting students into Tokyo. Sawamura’s going, isn’t he?”

“Because of a sports scholarship!” Tooru explodes. “ _NOT_ grades.”

“So...” He licks his lips, but before he speaks again, Tooru knows his next words will be sharp as daggers. “Doesn’t that make it a good place to go?”

“Uh... Hajime...” Makki’s leaning towards them now; his hands appear to be on standby, much the way Kindaichi used to be before matches. Alongside Hajime, Mattsun’s assumed the same stance.

“You said you couldn’t play when you reapplied to Seijou. Not fit enough, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, it’s like you said. Sawamura got a sports’ scholarship, and maybe I can again. Especially if Karasuno -”

“Don’t say it,” Makki warns. “Don’t!”

“Do as well as last year,” Hajime finishes, paying no attention, his eyes glittering.

“They’ve _lost_ their key players.”

“So have a lot of teams,” he says, shrugging.

There’s something off about the gesture. Tooru doesn’t know what, but it’s as if he’s watching some third rate TV show on a small cracked screen. As if none of this is happening right now. To him. To them.

“You don’t mean this!” he says and start to cackle. “Not even you, Iwa-chan, would be so stupid as to think about going there.”

“I could get on the team,” Hajime rasps. “Their coach’ll want me. I might have a chance. It’s a _good_ option.”

 “There _is_ another option, though,” he insists. “Sponsorship. You know my dad will do it.”

“Even if my parents agreed, it’s too late!” Hajime replies woodenly. “Your dad can’t suddenly make this happen in less than a month, can he?”

He’s losing patience, Tooru can hear it in his voice, his fuse about to blow, but he’s known this boy for so many years, and there’s still this point he’s not quite tipped over.

“Yes, yes he could,” Tooru pleads, and waits for the sign of hope to flame in Hajime’s eyes. It doesn’t. His pupils are flickering again and he’s wary, so wary. Tooru ploughs on.  “He could do it privately – just for the first year, perhaps.  And ... and ... we don’t need to tell your dad. We’ll say it’s a scholarship. It’s-”

“What? Lie to my parents? Jeez, yeah, ‘cause that’ll work!”

“It won’t hurt their feelings if they don’t know!” he explains desperately.

“It’s not about ‘feelings’!” he yells. “Why don’t you get this? Why the fuck don’t you understand? I can’t - _we_ can’t take your dad’s money. _I_ fucked up my exams. I fucked _everything_ up, from staying on after Inter Highs, to that fucking semi-final, and then that fucking practice match. I fucked it up, Oikawa, and you can’t fucking dig me out of this fucking hole by throwing money at me!” He wrenches away, lurching back into Matsukawa. “Help me out, will you? Talk some sense into this prat before I thump him.”

“Mix of metaphors there, Hajime-kun,” Mattsun says into the gaping silence. “And your swearing vocab needs a bit of work.”

“Great fucking help you are,” Hajime mutters but he’s weary now, and Tooru can sense a weakness, a tiny fracture.

“Okay, okay, so that’s a bad idea,” he whispers. “But ... look ... my dad has an apartment there, so we could share that. It’s on the firm, so all the expenses are paid.”

“Tooru, stop this.”

“You can come to Tokyo,” he implores. “You can study law. We can do this together – as planned. You don’t _need_ to go to Karasuno.”

Hajime sighs and gulps and swallows and then his fingers twitch up to the bridge of his nose, and when he next speaks, his voice is thick like he has a cold.  “If I said I was going to Wakutani or Johzenji, you wouldn’t be banging on about this, would you?”

He doesn’t answer. He should be able to fabricate a lie, robustly defend himself and tell Hajime that of course he was about to have made the same suggestion, but his speech doesn’t come quick enough.

And it’s the silence that defeats them.

“Tell me, Oikawa,” Hajime mutters and gets to his feet. “Why is my pride so insignificant compared to yours?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Makki and Mattsun, btw. :D   
> Hope you liked this. I'll get a regular schedule with posting soon, so thank you for reading and sticking with it.


	6. leave me falling forever

**March**

Letting himself into the flat, Hajime is at once assailed by the silence. It means the twins are out somewhere – probably with his dad - but he can hear the faint strains of the radio in the kitchen, so he heads there. His mum’s preparing food. Fish nimono, he thinks, which isn’t his favourite, but Saburo loves it. A balancing act, she calls it, serving their favourites, but in return, they need to compromise and eat everything without complaint.

“Hey,” Hajime calls from the door. “Need a hand.”

“I thought you were meeting your friends,” his mum says. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“Got cancelled,” he mutters.

She eyes him speculatively. “You mean you had another argument. Really, Hajime, can’t you and Tooru ever just have a conversation?”

“He’s being a prick,” he says. “Not listening to anyone’s point of view but his own.”

She frowns a touch but doesn’t reprimand him. “It’s the way he’s been brought up. Oh, don’t pull that face. I’m very fond of Tooru, you know that, and he’s like a part of our family at times, but ... he’s not. And he won’t ever be, Hajime, because ... they’re different from us.”

He sighs and sinks onto one of the chairs, not wanting to hear this lecture, however mild, from her. Leaving the nimono, his mum joins him, taking his hands between hers.

“I can’t think how many times I’ve had to do this,” she says, giving him a squeeze. “You used to come back home, your face as black as pitch after a fight with Tooru. And sometimes I just wanted to yell at you to stop being his friend if you were that angry, but ...”

“You didn’t.”

She shakes her head. “He’s a good boy. I like him. And ... he’s good for you. Where would my tornado of a son have been without Tooru laughing him out of his dark moods? And I never thought it was my place to tell you who you can and can’t be friends with.” Then she chuckles. “Besides, if I’d told you not to be friends with him, you’d only have been more determined, wouldn’t you?”

Sniffing, he extracts his hands from hers, then smiles a little. “Yeah, probably.”

“So, what was the argument about?”

He raises both brows. “What do you think?”

“College? Oh, please tell me he’s not still telling you to apply to Oikawa-san’s firm. It won’t wash with your dad at all!”

“He is, and, yeah, I told him to stop.”

“There’s more, though...” She touches his hand again. “Hajime, you can talk to me, you know.”

He swallows, knowing she’s not going to like his answer. She’ll declare it a non reason, petty and unreasonable, but still, but still, _but still_ ... “It’s about Karasuno. Tooru ... uh ... really won’t be happy with me going there.”

She raises her hands, her face tautening. “Please tell me there’s a valid reason for this. Like Tooru’s convinced the school’s been overrun with the Slitheen and the Doctor can’t help because he’s dealing with the Master.”

“Uh... What?”

“No, of course there isn’t. It’s about bloody volleyball, isn’t it? Oh for heaven’s sake, Doctor Who or alien related reasons I could accept,” she says trying to joke her way out of the clear exasperation she feels, “but having his obsession with the sport dominate your life choices again, Hajime, is not going to happen. It’s not healthy!”

“It’s ...um ...”

“You’re not going to a school to play volleyball. Have you made that clear? This is to get the grades you need. To reapply for the best colleges. He does understand that, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah... but...”

“There’s no but about this, Hajime!” she snaps. “Ugh!  I _knew_ you were funny about the place from the moment we walked in. It’s a fine school. They have college prep classes, the teaching is of a good standard, and they have spaces. The only thing I’m hesitant about is that they have volleyball, and I don’t want you getting distracted again.”

His headache’s back, hammering against his head. “I won’t be,” he says. “But ... you liked Wakatun, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes, it was good... but it’s further away and I’d like you to - ” She sighs then abruptly gets to her feet. “It’s up to you. They’re both good. Johzenji was all right, too, but it’s where you think you’ll work best.”

 

His phone beeps just as the Chibis return, all tearing spirits and grazed knees as they plunder through the flat. He can feel his head throbbing already.

**[I’m coming over.]**

**_[Don’t.]_ **

**[I’m leaving in an hour. We HAVE to talk this through!]**

**_[Nothing to say.]_ **

**[So are you going there?]**

He stares at the screen, willing his fingers to move.

**_[I don’t know]_ ** he types in the end.

**[Meaning yes]**

**_[Meaning I don’t fucking know]_ **

His phone rings. It’s Oikawa. As Hajime answers, he hears the sound of traffic and the whirr of an engine.

“Don’t drive and use your phone!” he snaps and hangs up.

Oikawa calls back two minutes later. “I’ve parked up. Can we talk now?”

Saburo barges into him, a lightsaber in his hand, as he and Koji re-enact last week’s film. They’re noisy- as usual – and the apartment’s vibrating with their enthusiasm.

“I’ll come and find you!” Hajime shouts.

 

Pulling on a jacket, he calls out that he won’t be long. His mum’s watching him from the doorway, looking drawn again, but she says nothing, just gives him one of her ‘looks’ that says ‘it’s up to you, Hajime, but you know what I think’ , before she yells at the twins to keep it down.

Oikawa’s parked on the forecourt of a petrol station. It’s his car, small and not new, but he’s been promised something better when he’s had more experience behind the wheel. His fingers drum on the steering wheel in batches of three and then he stops for a beat before starting again. He has rituals like this, another is tying his trainer laces so each loop is equal. A nervous habit, something he needs to have control over before he can clear his mind for the task ahead.

Hajime taps on the window. “Hey.”

Oikawa doesn’t get out, but opens the passenger door. He’s still staring through the windscreen when Hajime slides inside, his fingertips still.

“What do want to say?” Hajime says.

“That I’m sorry,” Oikawa says softly. “And that you were right.”

_That’s a first,_ he thinks sourly. “About what?”

“That if you’d said you were going anywhere else but Karasuno, I wouldn’t have mentioned sponsorship... or the apartment.”

“Okay.”

Oikawa sniffs. “I still think it’s a good idea, though. A lot of the expense is living away from home, so surely if that’s taken care of then-”

As he carries on talking, his voice at its most warm and winning, Hajime closes his eyes. He can hear the smile on Oikawa’s lips, and, so sure this will work this time. He stretches his leg, feeling that twinge again, and he wonders. He wonders about the scholarship he got the first time.

It came down to a partnership – they both know that. They _all_ know that. Everyone. Which is why he thinks Irihata’s not bothered about having him back now. They don’t want him without Oikawa. Yahaba will manage very well, and the team will grow and grow without them both.

“It’s too late for this,” he says at last.

“Have you actually turned down your college place?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

“To go to Karasuno.”

“Maybe.” He sniffs.

“I don’t want you to.”

“It’s not about you, though.” There’s a pain in the middle of his forehead, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He rubs his eyes. _We’re going round in circles_. “I haven’t said I’ll play.”

 “But you will. I know you, Iwa-chan, and I know how much you’ve missed it since you were injured.” His voice sticks. “I so badly want us to play together again.”

The weight of Tooru’s guilt and expectations are as oppressive as a shroud. “I want that too,” Hajime assures him, and leaning across he takes his hand. “But I can’t come to Tokyo. Not yet.”

“And Karasuno?”

“I ... don’t know. Mum’s keen.” He sniffs a bit. “I think she likes the uniform.”

“Don’t joke.” He leans back against the headrest, removes his hand from Hajime’s, and clasps his together on his lap. “I keep thinking about your spikes. I sat here waiting for you and all I could see was one from years ago. You were so gangly, but you always jumped well, and you ran across the court to get on the end of a toss, and ... you scored the winner.”

“I had a great toss from my setter,” Hajime murmurs. He wonders where this is going because there’ve been so many games, so many amazing tosses and spikes that have won them games _(just not the match that mattered)_.

“It was a genius toss, set right where it evaded the blockers.” He turns his gaze on Hajime; a line appears between his brows. “I’d been benched. You won without me.”

_We’re back to this._

“Tooru, that was nearly four years ago,” he despairs. “And you got your place back. You won an award. Best Setter in the Prefecture. _He_ never got that.”

“Tobio’s going to get better,” Oikawa continues tonelessly.

“Well, yeah, he will, but ... uh, come on, you will, too.” He nudges him. “What is this? You _know_ how good you are.”

“What if I’m not?” he whispers. “What if this is my peak? If I’ve polished and polished and now the shine is all that’s left?”

“You’re talking crap. You’re only going to get stronger. Your serve’s already frightening, Tooru, and you read the game better than anyone I know.”

“Wasn’t enough.”

“Oh, Jeez!” He crashes his head back on the headrest.  “It was High School. That’s done, and yeah, I fucking cried my eyes out, but we can’t do a fucking thing about it.”

 “You’re not listening to me.”

“I’m always listening, Oikawa. It’s not me that never hears a word other people are saying.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” Oikawa says, his voice a mere breath, eyes wide and mouth agape.  “Not at all.”

_I do. I really do._

“Just hear me out.”

And there, just for a moment, he thinks about yielding, of letting Oikawa flop his head onto his shoulder while he assures him it’ll be okay. He’ll be firm and say that no, he won’t go to Tokyo ... yet ... but he’ll try another school.

And they’ll both still be sad, sad that it’s come to this, but Oikawa will nod and _say_ he understands. He’ll apologise for being crass, for offering money. He might even joke that Hajime needs to start headbutting him again when he makes an idiot out of himself.

And it’ll be good again. They’ll be back to normal. Oikawa will flay himself with a thousand apologies. Hajime will promise not to overreact. They’ll make _plans_ to see each other. Skype dates. Weekend visits. Texts. Phone calls.  They’ll compromise their own realities and dreams because that’s what they always do.

_‘I will wait for you.’_

The same patterns.

_‘Make me forget.’_

History on an eternal repeat.

“If you go to Karasuno, it’s like our defeat meant nothing. It tore me, Hajime. And I saw how it ripped into you, too, but it’s ... you going there means you’ve forgotten.”

And the twin stenches of failure and guilt souring their every kiss.

_‘I will wait for you.’_

He can feel an ache at the back of his throat, and heat behind his eyelids as he makes his decision.

“What did they do wrong, Oikawa, except beat us?”

“And you’re going to forget all of that and play for them?”

“What, so you’re going to go to Tokyo and refuse to play on the same team as Sawamura, right? What are you going to do if you get selected for Japan and Ushiwaka’s on the team? Refuse them?”

“No, no, that’s ridiculous! You’re deliberately misinterpreting what I’m saying.”

“Because you’re talking crap again. This afternoon it was all fine until I mentioned Karasuno. You were encouraging me to play again. You want me to play-”

“Yes, I do, but-”

“But not with Karasuno. And ... you know, it’s not even the team, is it, not really.  You don’t want me playing with Kageyama. So, what? I can only play if he’s injured? Or if the team sub him out for me. Is that what you’re saying?  That would be allowable for King Oikawa!”

 Slapping the heels of his hands on his temples, Oikawa’s voice is a fury of words and nonsense. “It would hurt. It would ... the thought of you and him and- spiking his tosses. Admiring. Celebrating. Winning with him. And I’m nothing. You’ll – you’ll.  I’m ... there powerless. The scene in my head, On the bench-” His breath is fast, panting out air, steaming up the windscreen in front of him and his fists now pound out an incessant beat on the steering wheel.

Hajime sees the rerun. The scene from four years before that could have been so much worse if he’d not intervened. But the only one here who could get hurt is Tooru with this endless flagellation as he lashes out over and over, torturing himself with scenes he can’t control.

Eternal repeat. His head hurts at the memories.

“You’re a kid sulking because he hasn’t got his own way,” he says, mustering every ounce of scorn he can. “Grow the fuck up, for both our sakes.”

“Listen to me, Iwa-chan!”

And suddenly the nick-name makes him irrationally angry. The throwback to their childhood mocking him and all he can see is Tooru through the years laughing. At him.

 “I’ve done nothing but listen to this whine for four fucking years. And stop calling me that. I’m not a fucking kid anymore.”

“Because _you_ haven’t changed at all! Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan,” Tooru repeats, his voice shrill and sing-song. “Why so grumpy, Iwa-chan?”

“Why do you think?  Maybe because I’ve been shackled to you for ten fucking years!”

He sees Oikawa’s mouth begin to twitch. He knows why. The tail end of this row is glaringly close to everything that’s gone before, and he’s waiting for Hajime take a step back, to remember that they’re friends before anything else. But he can’t always toe Tooru’s line. His mum’s exasperated face swims in front of him. Her hands around his, comforting and familiar – so very familiar. And right now he longs for her brand of calm.

 “Karasuno’s a good school,” he says mulishly. “I could do well there.”

“Oh, purlease! It’s nothing compared to Seijou,” Oikawa spits.  “And you know it.”

“Yeah, well.”  As he closes his eyes, he steels himself for the next volley of abuse, and he sits on his hands, anything to stop his fingers curling into fists. “They know how to win.”

Oikawa actually laughs. It’s bitter and scratching, shrill in the evening air. He reaches across Hajime, pulling him close, and stares into his eyes. “And I don’t. Is that what you’re trying to say?  Oh, dear, Iwa-chan, you’ll have to do better than that.”

 “ _We_ didn’t get to Nationals.” Imitating Oikawa, he laughs even as he calculates the weakest spot. _Hit it till it breaks._  “Not even your dad could buy you a place on that stage.”

“And you think with Karasuno you will! You honestly think Tobio will get you your scholarship back! You think his skill is so much better than mine that you’ll waltz straight back into college under his leadership!”

“Maybe I’ll get it,” he yells. “ME! Not you. It won’t be _anything_ to do with you this time. My merits, and not you or your father’s fucking wallet!”

“If you do this. If you go there and play for them... I’ll .... I’ll ... That’s it. We’re done!”

He’s tired, so very tired of it all. His hand fumbles for the door handle, and before Oikawa can react, he’s wrenched himself away and is levering his legs out of the car.

“Have a good holiday,” he mutters.

“Iwa-chan, stop!”

He hunches his shoulders, refusing to look back and slams the car door.

 “Hajime, PLEASE!”

He keeps on walking.

***

 

 

Back at the flat, he finds his dad in the kitchen, ordering the twins to wash their faces before he serves up. He smiles and raises his eyebrows when Hajime brushes past them, then gestures for him to lay the table.

“Just four,” he says. “Your mum’s not feeling a hundred percent.”

“Oh ... okay.” He finds the china bowls, sloshing hot water in them to warm them up, then drying them with the towel airing by the sink. “She’s been tired a lot lately. Is she ... um ...”

“Hmm?”  His dad’s frowning as he stirs the nimono.

“Dad ... you would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you?”

As he dad turns, Hajime sees a faint light in his eyes. Normally he’d think it was the light reflecting off his glasses, but there’s something about his dad’s smile that automatically cause Hajime to grin back.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Your mother is fine,” he answers. “And ... please keep this to yourself as it’s early days, but ... uh ... You’re going to be a brother again.”

“Huh?”

“Mmm, I imagine I looked like that when she told me,” he murmurs. And then his face ripples with immense delight. “It’s going to mean changes. And she’ll need help from all of us, but ... we’re both very happy about it.”

“Wow ...”He blinks. “Another kid.”  There’s a loud bang from the bathroom. They both start to laugh. “Not gonna be twins, is it?”

“We don’t know. There’s an ante natal appointment soon. Then we’ll see. Until then ... Keep quiet, yes?”

“Sure.” And then he grins, and in a movement he thinks surprises his dad, he envelops him in a hug. “This is great.”

 

Tapping softly on the door, Hajime’s rewarded by a faint ‘come in’.  He sets the bowl of nimono on his mum’s bedside table, but instead of leaving, he hovers in the doorframe.

“Sit down,” she says, patting the bed.

“I’ve made a decision,” he tells her, sitting carefully beside her.”About schools.”

“Oh.”

“Karasuno,” he says. “Not Wakatun.”

“I thought...” She’s smiling, but it’s incredulous as if she really can’t believe what he’s agreed to. “I mean, I think it’s the ideal solution, but you were so set against it, Hajime-chan.”

“Yeah, well. You’re always telling me you know best.” He sniffs and forces his mouth into a smile. “’Bout time I started listening to you.”

 

His phone rings at nine that night. He’s in his bedroom staring at the ceiling, trying not to think. But it’s the right choice, he knows that. Karasuno’s closer, so there’ll be less time wasted on travel.  He picks up his phone, readying himself for a volley of abuse.

“I’m at the airport.”

“Yeah, thought so.”

“It hurts to think of you there.” Oikawa says through indrawn breaths. “Playing with _him._ ”

“Then don’t think about it,” Hajime replies.

And hangs up.

Beep beep.

**[Did we get cut off?]**

There are tears leaking from his eyes, streaming down his cheeks, but although he aches to dial his number, to press the digits that will connect him again to the boy waiting for his call, he switches his phone to silent.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the flashback chapters, although ... 
> 
> From now on, everything is Present day, alternating VPs.


	7. First flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru starts college ...

**April**

Tooru had always liked first days, likening them to treading across a snow- covered lawn, or grabbing the apple just before it fell from the tree.  Not for him the intimidation and sweaty palms as he entered a new arena or classroom. And since he’d turned eight, he’d had three days of being the new kid. One at his new elementary school, one at Junior High, and lastly High School. But then again, since he’d been eight, he’d had someone by his side, never walking into the room without knowing at least one person.

Outside the room, he took a breath. Inside other students were either sitting at desks, or clumped in groups. He recognised the eagerness on their faces, that desperation to be friends with someone, to not be an onlooker. A girl brushed past him, apologising a little, pausing when she looked around and smiling into his eyes. His mother had always impressed on him the importance of manners, particularly with strangers because you never knew if someone would be important in the future. Size someone up before you dismiss them, his father had said. It was a rare moment for them both to agree, which might have been why Tooru was unfailingly polite and usually charming, so he smiled back at her but didn’t hold her gaze.

His smile appeared to be enough because after an initial hesitation, she said, “Ps-Psychology?”

“Mmm.”

“Is it your major?”

“It is,” he replied, and although he wished she’d go away, he glanced at her again, his smile smaller but intact. She was pretty, with even teeth, a straight, almost sharp nose, and glossy black hair. “And you?”

She nodded, and he noticed a butterfly slide clipping back her hair. “Media Studies is my minor.”

“Ah.” He didn’t elaborate.

“The course is popular,” she said. “I was told by the sensei at my High School that it’s among the best in Japan.”

“I think mine said the same thing.” He pressed his lips together, deciding not to tell her it was only part of the reason he was here.

They stood in silence for a few extra moments. He could tell by the way she was clutching her books across her chest that she was nervous, her knuckles white and shoulders stiff. And he supposed he could have done something to reassure her, to point out the other students hovering, but he stayed silent.

“Well ... uh ... I think I’ll ... um ... go in,” she muttered, and without waiting for a reply, she wriggled her way through the guys standing at the door.

“Loitering on the outskirts,” said a voice, not brash but louder than the hubbub around him. Tooru twisted around to find the source, recognising its authority and found himself facing a man – late thirties perhaps – in grey trousers and a white pressed shirt. His jacket was slung over his arm, and he carried an obviously used brown briefcase. “Not yet joining the class. What, I wonder, does that tell us about the psychology of the individual?” He stopped at the door, smiled at the stragglers, then stared at Tooru. “Trepidation or confidence? Or perhaps some of you are cultivating a certain aloofness?”

Tooru stared back then mirrored the guy’s smile. He was either a dick or a mentor, he wasn’t sure yet.

He followed him in, not too close, then idled his way to a desk on the far side of the room next to a window. 

 “My name...” the sensei called, effectively silencing all of them by the time he’d reached the ‘n’ of name, and sending them scurrying to find seats.  “Is Takahisho and I teach the core Psychology modules, therefore I will be your sensei whether you’re taking this as your major or minor.”

He flashed his smile again, focusing this time, Tooru noticed, on three girls sitting in the front row.

“Some of you will have taken Psychology before. At school, perhaps you took one class a week. Or maybe you think you’re cut out for this course because you’re good listeners, or you’ve watched a medical drama on TV.” He waved his hand, dismissing any objections and Tooru found himself eyeing him speculatively, still undecided about the man.  “Whatever the reason, whatever your former experience, I expect you all to listen, keep an open mind, and then we’ll get along just fine.

“You should all have a handout,” he continued after pausing for a breath (and another ‘charming’ smile). “Raise your hands if you don’t .... Good. On the handout are dates when work is expected to be handed in, or when there’s an assessment. Extensions will not be given out except under the most mitigating circumstances, up to and including near fatal injury saving the city from Godzilla.”

_Huh?_

Takahisho laughed, and a split second later half the class joined in.

_Not remotely funny._

“All this information is stored on the website in case – like the vast majority of my former students – you lose the handout in the first few days.” He licked his lips. “So there’s no excuse for not knowing due dates for anything. And now the nasty preliminaries are out of the way, let’s try something fun.”

_Bet it’s role play._

“The Psychology of Dreams,” Takahisho began as he handed  a tin to one of the girls.  “On each desk is a piece of paper; write down a dream you remember, fold it in half, and place in the tin. I’ll pick one at random, and we can interpret.”

_Oh pur-lease, is this Hogwarts?_

It was the girl he’d spoken to outside the classroom who came round with the tin.  Tooru folded his paper with a flourish, posting it through the slot. She smiled then moved away. He’d not lied. He supposed he could have done, invented some far-fetched dream about getting abducted by aliens, or perhaps spun a yarn concerning a beautiful girl. Instead, he wrote the rather bland truth which happened to be his recurring dream - not a particularly interesting one - and he figured he knew the reason behind it anyway but the sensei’s interpretation _might_ be different.

Their sensei wasn’t quite true to his word, picking two dreams first and dismissing them (‘That’s too specific’ and ’Sexual dreams tend to mean you want sex’.) But there was, Tooru supposed, an inevitability that he’d pick his out next – and not dismiss it, however boring Tooru had made it seem.

“’In my dreams I can make myself fly’,” he read out loud, then paused as he smoothed out the crease with his thumbnail. “Interesting.”

“Uh...” A boy had raised his hand. “Isn’t that quite a normal dream?”

Tooru leant back, a smile on his lips as he wondered if the questioner had been the owner of the sex dream summarily dismissed.

“Dreams you can fly are quite commonplace, I agree,” Takahisho said. “But the wording interests me. Anyone know why?”

Someone raised their hand. Peering through a gap, Tooru saw its owner possessed short light brown hair. The sensei nodded and then he spoke.

“Plural of dream suggests more than one dream?” the eager student replied. “So recurring?”

“Yep, that’s one point. Any more?”

Sandy haired Eager-san shook his head. But another hand went up, the person next to him.

“Go ahead.”

“’I can make myself fly’,” said the voice.

_Male. Warm and vaguely familiar.  Although maybe that was just the ..._

“Suggesting?”

“Lucid dreams. The dreamer can influence the outcome.”

_Miyagi accent._

“Excellent.”

“But... uh ...” The speaker stopped. Tooru shifted a little in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but just then the girl diagonally in front of him scraped her chair as she, too, tried to see who was speaking.

“Go on.”

“If the dreamer can influence their dreams then doesn’t that mean any interpretation would be flawed?”

“Very good.”

The sensei nodded his approval and the smile he now bestowed was smaller but more _genuine_ Tooru thought.

“Is this your dream?”

“Mine? Oh, no. Mine was something more ... uh ... “ And at that point the girl obscuring his view relaxed back in her seat, and Tooru for the first time had a clear view through a tiny gap of the student.

Blond hair.

Not just blond, but hair that could almost be called silver. Unmistakable. And the accent didn’t just _sound_ like a Miyagi resident’s. He was one.

_What are the actual chances?_

He’d known Sawamura was attending the university, but hadn’t been sure about Sugawara.

_I guess you passed your exams, then._

“I dreamt I was playing volleyball, actually,” Sugawara was saying with a deprecating laugh. “For some reason I was a Wing Spiker, but I couldn’t find the right shirt.”

His neighbour chuckled. No one else did.

“Ah,” the sensei’s attention flickered away, clearly uninterested now. “So, who is the lucid dreamer amongst us?”

_Okay, I’ll play._

“That would be me.”  Sticking his hand up, not high or straight but with his palm flexed back, Tooru pulled the sensei’s attention towards him.

“Ah,” he repeated, but it was a different ‘ah’ than he’d used before. This held interest, and perhaps the glimmer of a challenge. “And your name is?”

Tooru blinked, then even though he wasn’t asked, he got to his feet and very deliberately took a bow. “Oikawa Tooru.”

A faint gasp reached his ears, but deliberately not looking to front left, he busied himself with pushing his glasses back up the bridge his nose.

“And how often, Oikawa-kun, would you say you have lucid dreams?”

“It comes and goes.” He took a deliberate pause. “More so recently,” he lied.

“Might I ask something, sensei?” breathed a girl in the front row.

“Go ahead.”

“How do you do it, Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa smoothed his mouth into a benign smile. “I have no idea. I’m dreaming and become aware I’m dreaming. Sometimes I wake myself up, more often I’ll continue and remain asleep.”

“Do you have an aim?” Takahisho asked.

“Hmm?”

“When you continue with your flight,” he explained. “Are you flying from something, perhaps?”

“Oh no.” Oikawa licked his lips, letting his eyes drift from the girl to the sensei then to Sugawara. “I’m after the prize.”

He waited to see if a flush would appear on Sugawara’s pale skin, but instead he held his gaze, not the slightest perturbed.

“Which is?” Sugawara’s neighbour butted in and slightly discomforted, Tooru turned his attention onto him.

And then he started because sitting next to Sugawara was another not exactly familiar face, but all the same there was something, something, _something_ very recognisable about him. Tufts of hair framed his features, large almond shaped eyes and a pleasant enough smile. But it was his height and frame, visible even though he was sitting, that gave Tooru pause. _Libero_ – he thought. _Oh_... His face cleared. _Nekoma._

“I can’t always remember,” he said, adding a drawl. “Just that it’s something worth reaching for.”

Raising his eyebrows, Takahisho motioned for him to sit down, then with an air of one who was in charge, picked out another dream, jettisoning Tooru’s by letting it float to the floor.

After more analysis and much conjecture, which Tooru had to admit served well as a warm up session, the lecture became a series of meet and greets, names being exchanged, ideas and laughter flying through the air.  Tooru watched, joined in occasionally, and didn’t demur even when the most outlandish statements were thrown into the air.

“Playing volleyball is a clear reference to childhood,” one student was telling Sugawara at the end of the session. “Somewhere in your subconscious you want to go back to Elementary school and ... and ... it’s like those days when you had to get changed after PE lessons and that’s why the shirt’s wrong. It’s too small now, so –”

Sugawara was pressing his lips together, and as he squinted, Tooru saw a flash of laughter in his eyes. “I play volleyball now. I think the shirt is ... uh ... something else.”

_Wing Spiker’s shirt. No prizes for guessing whose._

Packing up his laptop, the former-Nekoma boy smirked, adding, “We have try-outs soon. My dream was facing a series of jump serves and missing them all.”

At that, Sugawara turned his head, and catching Tooru looking over, he smiled. “Probably from Oikawa-san. His serve is legendary.”

It was an overture, Tooru knew that, a prelude to possible friendship, and he knew the wisest course would be to respond because he’d be spending time with them all very soon and it was hardly Sugawara’s fault that ...  

He took a breath, hoping to block _that_ thought with oxygen, and then hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he stepped through the desks towards them.

“Sugawara-san, I didn’t know you were taking Psychology.”

“My minor,” Sugawara explained, bowing his head. “Japanese Literature is my major.” He zipped up his case, then twisted towards his class mate. “This is Yaku Morisuke. We’re housemates and –”

“We’ve met,” Yaku replied with a welcoming smile. “Across the net, though. You might not remember me.”

It wasn’t the best of memories, that particular practice match, but then it was hardly the Libero’s fault, so Tooru pulled a rueful expression, but didn’t snap.

“I hope your Ace... uh ... Iwaizumi ... fully recovered,” Yaku continued. “That was a nasty injury.”

Tooru blinked.

“Daichi has his first law lecture today, too. They’ll probably meet up,” Sugawara replied. “Maybe we could grab coffee.”

There was a bead of sweat on Tooru’s brow. He could feel a slow burn bubble inside of him.

“Funny how we’re in the same classes too,” Sugawara continued. And then he smiled, wide and bright, as if everything was wonderful, the future clear before them and no clouds possible on this sun-filled morning.

Tooru’s fingernails dug into his palm so deep he could have drawn blood. “Are you deliberately trying to piss me off, Sugawara-chan?” he asked, keeping his voice level and extra sweet.

“Huh?”

“You know exactly where Iwa-ch... Iwaizumi is. You thought... what ... you could tease me a little? Wind me up? Is this an attempt to put me off my stride?” He leant forwards, using his height as a weapon as he loomed over them both. “It won’t work. I _will_ be trying out.”

“Oikawa-san.” Sugawara’s eyelashes fluttered erratically, his voice cracking. “I ... really don’t know what you’re ... uh ... Is Iwaizumi-san _not_ here? Is he at another college? Sorry, I thought he was... I mean, Daichi said when he met you on the induction day that Iwaizumi was also -” He gulped. “I apologise. I’ve clearly got the wrong end of the stick.”

“No, I think you decided to grab it with both hands and beat me with it!” Tooru said archly. “Not so sweet as you look, are you?”

Without giving either Sugawara or Yaku the chance to reply, he pushed past them, heading out of the classroom. He got to the middle of the hallway, his palms clammy and his head thudding so much he thought it would burst and ducked down a side corridor, leaning against the wall as he willed his breathing to return to normal.

 “What the fuck was that about?” he heard Yaku say, not bothering in the slightest to keep his voice down.

“No idea,” came the airy reply. And then the kicker. The breeze turning into a sharp whipping wind. And he shouldn’t have been surprised because Sugawara on court had seemed benign, but his serves had wreaked havoc on Seijou. “He always had it in for Kageyama, but I didn’t realise the paranoia extended to the rest of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on in, I will try to update this story twice a week. The POVs alternate between Hajime and Tooru.


	8. Clipped Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime POV and some more of the Chibis. Plus two more familiar faces introduce themselves to Iwa-chan.

**April**

His fourth day at Karasuno, and Hajime was sat outside an office, a pink slip in his hand, and a water bottle by his feet. He’d learned a few things already at his new school. One was that the air conditioning wasn’t turned on until it got to June. As it was still April and unseasonably warm, he’d refilled his water bottle twice already. Another was that wearing the gakuran buttoned to the top wasn’t obligatory, unless it was a whole school assembly. He’d immediately ripped his jacket open, rolled his shoulders and neck and relished this small freedom from restriction. The third thing he’d discovered was that the visit to the Guidance Counsellor was something he couldn’t avoid, despite his insistence that he knew exactly what he was doing and what grades he needed to achieve it. His tutor had ignored the protests, handed him an appointment card, and pushed him out of the room.

“It’s during Art, Iwaizumi-kun, which is a subject you said you showed little interest in, so there’s no reason for you at all to wriggle out of this,” she’d said, and stared at him through her glasses, making him feel like an eight-year-old caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel.

So that was why he was currently sitting in a hard, plastic chair, uncomfortable because the sun was beating through a window with a broken blind, and scowling because really why the fuck did he need to see this guy?

And he was late, now. His appointment was supposed to be for eleven-thirty; his phone told him it was a quarter to twelve. Clearly, the Guidance Counsellor could barely guide their own appointments, so what use would they be to Hajime?

The door opened.  A voice shot across to him. He groaned inwardly because from where he was sat there was no chance in hell this guy wouldn’t see him.

“Keep up the studying, Noya-kun. You have a great chance of earning a sports scholarship, if college is where you want to go,” said the Counsellor, “but if not, then good grades are always going to stand you in good stead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, as he backed out the door. The guy turned, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw Hajime. And he knew he’d not been mistaken, the hair with its tuft of blond giving the identity away almost as much as the boy’s stature.

Hajime stared stonily out of the window, refusing to look.

“Shouyou wasn’t hallucinating, then? It is you,” Nishinoya said, not in the least put off.

“Who?” The question slipped out of him.

“Hinata,” he explained. “Said you were in the toilets. Ryuu and I thought he was overexcited again.”

“Ah ... yeah, it’s me.”

“At Karasuno.”

“So it appears.”

“Cool.” He grinned and then gave a quick bobbing bow. “Nishinoya Yuu.”

“Yeah, I know.” And although he didn’t want to, Hajime couldn’t not bow back. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Man, everyone knows who you are,” Nishinoya replied. Stuffing some leaflets into his bag, he stepped back, hands on hips and tilted his head to one side. “Why haven’t you signed up?”

“Huh?” He feigned ignorance, not really wanting to explain and probably have to argue his point. Nishinoya looked as tenacious in school as he did on the court, and Hajime had a feeling he wouldn’t let go quite as easily as Ennoshita had.

“Noya-kun, you should get back to class.”

A man appeared at the door. A short man with messy hair and square glasses. He had a harried air about him, as if the world were just a bit too much for him, but his smile was welcoming. “Iwaizumi-kun, I’m ready for you now. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“You’re the uh ...” He couldn’t think of the word.  This wasn’t Karasuno’s manager, neither was it their coach. He sat on the bench, with a clipboard attached to his chest. “I’ve seen you at matches.”

He inclined his head. “I’m their faculty adviser, yes. Noya ... get back to class.”

“Sure, Take-chan!” He beamed across to the pair of them, adding, “Lunchtime, Iwaizumi-san. See ya there.”

He didn’t bother with a reply. Nishinoya had shot off down the corridor and he didn’t want to get into an argument now.

“Don’t worry. I’m not about to frogmarch you to practice,” the Counsellor said. He gestured for Hajime to enter his office, smiled again, then as he sat behind his desk, he introduced himself.

Hajime huffed out his cheeks. “Sensei, I don’t mean to be rude but ... uh ... I do know what’s needed of me this year. There’s not much in the way of guidance you can give me.”

“Mmm, I know that. I have your records from Aobajousai High. Diligent student, despite staying on to play in your third year. Good brain. Expected to do well,” he said, flipping through a pile of notes. “Several notes from teachers all saying that it wasn’t unexpected that you were offered a place on that course. The general consensus is that if you put your mind to it, Iwaizumi-san, then you can achieve anything.”

He leant forward a little on his chair, meeting Takeda’s eyes. “And I intend to put my mind to it this year, too.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you do.”

“Then ... uh ... am I allowed to leave, sensei?”

“Would you indulge me? I do need to be seen to do my job,” Takeda said, waving a self-deprecating hand towards the pile of papers on his desk. “Why law?”

“Uh ...” Hajime blinked. He’d not been asked that for a while. It had been the goal pretty much through High School. “It’s interesting. My grades are good and I think I’d be good at it. Great prospects, too.”

“All valid reasons and it’s a lucrative career. You don’t have to justify the choice to me. I often have to counsel those with burning vocations that their dream is ... uh ... misplaced.”  He tapped his pen on the desk, and chewed his upper lip – not, Hajime thought, through nerves, but a consequence of puzzling something out in his mind. “You’re after an academic scholarship, not a sport’s one despite gaining one last year, is that correct?”

“Uh ... yeah, my knee isn’t ... I’m not fit enough.”

“You could be, though, couldn’t you?” Takeda stopped fiddling with his pen, placing it back on his desk. “We do have a good volleyball team here, Iwaizumi-kun, and they would have no objection to you joining them, even if it’s only for training,” he said gently.

A lump formed in his throat, and no amount of head shaking would shift it.

“You might not be aware,” Takeda continued softly, “but last year’s captain, Sawamura, gained entry onto the exact same course you’re aiming for with a sports bursary.”

He swallowed, trying not to think about the chance lost to him, about Sawamura sitting in lectures, conscientiously taking notes, with his kit bag at his feet. They’d be having try-outs about now. He could have been rifling spikes over a net, practising his serve, joking with a new team, swapping laughs and barbs with ...  _Oh, for fuck’s sake_. He gritted his teeth.   “I can’t afford to stuff this up,” he muttered. “This really is my last chance, sensei.”

“Oh-kay.” Takeda whistled out the word between his teeth, the air between them faint with regret.  “I do feel it my duty to inform you that the academic scholarships are ... uh ...”

“Extremely competitive. Yeah, I know. I can handle that.”

“I’ve watched you play, Iwaizumi-kun, so I’m not doubting your competitive streak.  But ... uh ... I must point out the advisability of a backup plan.”

_This is my backup plan,_ he thought. _Do you honestly believe I’d be here for any other reason?_

“Will you apply to different colleges?  Different courses?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I mean ... yeah ... I can apply, but it needs to be on a scholarship basis. My parents can’t afford it otherwise.”

“I can investigate for you, if that helps,” Takeda suggested. “Other colleges might also offer other monetary inducements, especially for brightest students.”

Not Tokyo ... maybe that’s an option? The course in Osaka was on a par, after all, he’d not considered it before because ...“Cool ... I mean, great. Thank you, sensei.” Hajime sat back in his chair, waiting for Takeda to end the interview because surely they were finished now.

But Takeda didn’t make any move to release him. Instead, he leant across the desk, a stifled smile that was almost a grimace on his lips. “Other colleges have volleyball teams, too,” he said. “If you were fit, it could greatly increase your chances of -”

“I’m not interested.”

“Now that is a shame.  I remember watching you play. All that fire and strength, Iwaizumi-kun, I’d hate to never see that again.”

“May I go, sensei?” he asked, stiffly polite.

Takeda sighed. “Yes, certainly. I’ll be back in touch when I’ve found any more information. Meanwhile, if you have any questions at all, please feel free to talk to me.” Getting to his feet, he gestured to the door. His hands were shaking, Hajime noticed, but his gaze was firm, a little sad perhaps, and maybe pitying, Hajime wasn’t sure.

It was when he got to the door that he remembered something. “Takeda-san,” Hajime muttered, looking back over his shoulder. “I was told you called the ambulance when I was injured. Thank you.”

“Oh ... I ...uh ... Think nothing of it. I’m only sorry it was necessary, Iwaizumi-kun.”

 

He ambled back to the tutor room. It was close to lunch now, so there was no point in making his way to the library. His stomach was rumbling, so if the classroom were free, he’d sit inside and start his lunch. Maybe if the weather stayed hot, he’d venture outside, and walk off some of the frustration that had settled on his shoulders since the meeting with Takeda.

Or maybe the frustration had been because he’d spoken to Nishinoya. He didn’t know, just that the fact the Libero had seen him and was now seemingly expecting him to turn up to practice was unnerving.

The classroom was empty. With fifteen minutes until lunch, he’d pick up his bento box, and then find somewhere outside. He hid the thought that he was running away, labelling it a tactical retreat instead, because he had no doubt that Nishinoya would seek him out if he didn’t appear.

He was at his locker when Ennoshita wandered in.  _Great!_

“I’m not joining,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Volleyball club. I’d appreciate it if you could let your team know.”

“Sorry.” Ennoshita blinked, put the box he was carrying down on a table at the back of the room, and turned to face him. “I know you’re not joining. What’s brought this on?”

“Met Nishinoya. Your Libero?”

“Yes, I know who Nishinoya is. Did he say something?”

“Assumed I would be at practice.”

“Ah ... yes, he would.” Ennoshita gave a small smile. “He can’t quite see why anyone would ever want to give up. Mind you, if _I_ had his skill, then maybe I’d feel like that as well.”

The emphasis on _I_ nagged at Hajime, but he clutched the strap of his bag tighter and said nothing.

“Iwaizumi-san?”

“Yeah.”

“Word of advice. If you don’t want to be dragged kicking and screaming to the gym, then you either need to find a better place to eat lunch, or else practise holding onto the door. Now Noya knows you really are here, he won’t rest.”

He shrugged. “I find telling someone to fuck off usually works. That or a headbutt.”

“Really?” He looked amused, his rather sleepy eyes widening a touch and glinting in merriment. “Noya won’t be put off. Look, I will tell him to leave you alone, but ... uh ... maybe walk with a limp for a few days until the message gets through.”

Snorting, Hajime nearly smiled, but remembered in time that he was miserable and pissed off so scowled again.  Then, as Ennoshita started to unpack his box, a thought struck him. “What do you mean ‘really are here’?”

“Hmm?” he stopped what he was doing (which was sorting through photographs as far as Hajime could tell).

“You said that now he knows I’m _really_ here. Was I not before?”

“Oh, that!” Ennoshita replied, and with an infuriating slowness, he placed the photographs back in their folder before continuing. “Hinata came bounding up to me to say he’d seen you in the toilets. I asked him to keep quiet about it. Nishinoya was close by handing out flyers, so perhaps he caught the gist of the conversation.”

“You asked him to keep quiet?  Why?”

“I thought you’d appreciate being left alone, Iwaizumi-san. At least for a while.” He smiled wistfully. “Hinata is very enthusiastic, you must know that. There’s an intensity about him that’s really hard to explain. It can win us matches, but ... uh ... he’s scary too.”

“Thanks.” He raised his eyebrows and this time gave in to the grin. “I ... uh ... do appreciate it, but I don’t scare easily. I think I’ll find somewhere else to eat, though.”

Chuckling, Ennoshita pulled out another envelope of photographs. “Good plan. I’ll talk to Noya.”

“Cheers. And ... uh ... you can drop the ‘san’. We’re in the same class. It’s not like I’m your upperclassman, is it?”

“I will, thank you, Iwaizumi.”

_Why the fuck did I do that? He’s smiling now. Probably thinks we’re friends or something fucking dumb like that._ Grabbing his lunch and his bag, not bothering to offload some of his books, Hajime slunk out, aware all the time, that Ennoshita was watching him.

_Three and a half days down, a fucking shedload more to go. And then ... I’m free._

But as he bit into his wrap, he heard the buzz of his phone. His throat closed, his fingers fumbled for it, then tightened when he saw the message.

**[I have a doctor’s appointment. Can you pick up your brothers and give them tea? We’re out of juice, as well.]**

**[Sure.]** He typed back to his mum.

 

***

 

 

“Why are you here?” Saburo asked, looking Hajime up and down with a very dubious eye.

“Mum wanted me to pick you up. She’s gone out,” Hajime replied, sounding vague. “We need juice. Gonna come and choose some?”

Muttering that he wasn’t a baby and he hated the shops, Saburo nonetheless followed Hajime and Koji into the store. He was scuffing his shoes, his eyebrows one line that met in the middle and refusing to look up from his feet.

“Passion fruit, okay?”

“Melon.”

“There isn’t any.”

“Don’t care then,” Saburo said, his mouth sulky and eyes sullen.

Ignoring him, Hajime turned to his other brother, ruffling his hair.“Koji?”

“Passion fruit’s fine,” he said in a small voice.

Raising his eyebrows, Hajime paid, packed the juice into his bag and then picked out his bike from the rack.

“Why did you bring that?” Saburo muttered.

“I cycled to school. Can’t expect me to leave it there.”

“You can drive though.”

“Yeah, but Dad had the car.”

“Why didn’t you get the bus then?” Saburo continued, but still he didn’t meet Hajime’s eyes.

“What’s the point in having a bike if you don’t use it?” Hajime retorted. “The pair of you could cycle.”

“On our crappy bikes. Yeah right.”

He grabbed Saburo, probably not the best idea. The best idea would have been to ignore what he was saying, to change the subject or prompt him gently to find out what was wrong, but Hajime didn’t think, and as he forced Saburo to look at him, watched his brother staring up at him with a mixture of defiance and fear, he snarled, “What the fuck is it with you today?”

“Get off me,” Saburo yelled, and kicking him in the shins, he wriggled free and stormed away.

“COME BACK!”

Koji tugged on his sleeve.“Nii-san, no.”

“Huh?”

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Get angry with Sabu-chan. H-he doesn’t mean it.”

“He’s been rude and sulky to me since I picked you both up. What’s his fu... uh ... what’s the matter with him?”

Koji shrugged, but Hajime knew the gesture, especially when he continued to walk, following his twin.

“Koji, come on, talk to me, buddy.”

He came to a halt, his lips trembling. And staring at him properly, Hajime noticed the beginnings on a black eye.  “Hey,” he whispered, “What happened to you?”

“Fight at school,” he said, sounding miserable. “I’ve got a letter for Mum and Dad. I don’t want to give it to them.”

“You’ll have to,” Hajime said, and sighed. “Look, it won’t be that bad. I used to get into fights all the time. Mum will yell at you, Dad’ll try to reason, but as long as you weren’t bullying a little kid ...” He paused. “You weren’t, were you?”

“No! Never!”

“Then good, because then I’d thump you. So ... look ... Mum and Dad will be cool.”

“They’ll be upset though.”

“Why?”

Saburo was at the top of the road waiting by the signpost, and even with the distance between them, Hajime could see him kicking stones across the pavement, the set of his shoulders stiff and unyielding.

“Akkun was teasing me about my trainers,” Koji muttered. “I ignored him, like Dad always says, but then he had a go at Sabu-chan’s, too, and kept asking why they were cheap.”

_Ah._

“Because the rate you two are growing,” Hajime began, feeling very sensible, “there’s no point spending a lot of money.”

It was the same argument his Mum had used on him, one he’d always accepted, and really hadn’t been that bothered about. As long as he could wear them, he was fine.

“Yeah, I know.” He pouted out his lower lip. “Then he wanted to know why neither of us had phones.”

“’Cause you’re both ten!”

“Yeah, but he has one, and so does everyone else in my class.” Koji sniffed.

“Everyone?” Hajime queried, resisting the urge to smirk as he realised he was using exactly the same argument his dad used to use on him.

“Well ...” Koji wrinkled his nose as he considered, then shook his head. “He’s horrible. I hate him.”

They’d caught up with Saburo now, and Hajime reached across to him. “Wanna ride my bike home?”

He shook his head. “Sorry for running off.”

“That’s fine. Koji’s explained. So ... uh ... how come you haven’t got a black eye like his?”

“Because I wanted to thump Akino, but Koji got in the way.”

At that, he couldn’t stop the laugh erupting from his lips. “You Chibis are something else.”

“Don’t call us that!” they both yelled, rounding on him.

“Getting in the way of Sab’s right hook. That’s dumb, Koji-chan! Almost as dumb as fighting over a stupid mobile phone or a pair of trainers.” He shook his head, still laughing.

Then Saburo hunched his shoulders again, and Koji stared at the ground. “Uh ... okay, what am I missing?” Hajime asked.

“Our whole class saw you dropping us off yesterday,” Saburo muttered. “We were late and you had to sign us in.”

“Uh ... yeah, so ...”

“They know you’re not at Aobajousai now,” Koji put in.

“And Akino recognised the uniform. He told everyone you’re at a garbage school,” Saburo finished. “So I hit him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, this was supposed to be put up yesterday. Circumstances in UK meant I wasn't concentrating.


	9. Currents of Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tryouts for Oikawa ... who's he going to meet?

**April**

It had been a restless night. Not that he’d been thrashing his limbs, or pacing the floor with insomnia, more that he’d been in and out of too many snapshots of dreams and interrupted patterns of sleep to feel in any way rested. As he watched the grey of the day slowly slide into sunshine, Tooru levered himself out of bed figuring he might as well get up as sleep was no longer an option.

He was alone. Alone was good, he’d told himself when he’d refused the offer of campus accommodation. It meant he didn’t have to put up with other’s noise, communal facilities and even more noise. The smell would be negligible and he could think in peace, concentrate on his work and be himself. With his father using the apartment for stopovers, he didn’t quite have the independence he craved, but it was close enough.

Unfortunately alone also gave him too much time with his thoughts.

“Volleyball,” he muttered. “Signups today. Move.”

His mind clarifying, he loped to the bathroom, then stared at himself in the mirror. “Not the best you’ve looked, Tooru-chan,” he said, and hurriedly wiped away the sleep from his eyes.  His dishevelled hair he sorted out by combing with his fingers, before he cursorily splashed his face with water, scrubbed with a towel and then returned to his room to pull on his sweat pants.

He would jog for a while. Tokyo at this hour was already busy, with cars belching out fumes from their exhausts, but as he donned a mask, he pushed to the outskirts of his mind the memory of a beach and the sea air flooding his lungs.

Thinking not of how when he jogged in Miyagi he’d always liked company, he fumbled for his iPod and headed out into the street. He didn’t have a favourite route yet, but turned right rather than left, the same as he’d done yesterday, and then slipped down a quieter street and towards the park.

He liked it here. There were ducks for one thing that always made him laugh. One in particular had a louder quack than the others, a yellow head and black rimmed beady eyes – Mad Dog in duck form, he’d thought when he’d first seen him. Then buried that thought along with everything else. Now it was just Loud Duck-chan who flapped his wings whenever Tooru ran past his patch of the large ornamental pond.

He’d been at college for a week, attended his lectures, shopped for food (quite a novelty) discovered a coffee bar he preferred to another, found a bakery specialising in French pastries and another where the milk pan made his mouth water. The gym had been open but not the volleyball courts, so he’d looked over the facilities, tried out the jogging machines and decided he preferred the open air.

He’d not spoken to Sugawara since that first lesson.

Sitting in the same seat, he’d observed, contributed and kept his eyes averted from the pair of them. Whether Sugawara was looking at him and attempting friendship, he had no idea because he refused to look to the left or right, focussing his attention on his books or their sensei.

As he rounded the bend, Tooru sprinted down the path to the bridge that crossed the pond. He’d barely broken a sweat, but his limbs felt ungainly and stiff, so he slowed his pace focusing on the row of cherry trees with their floating pink blossom swaying in the distance.

They weren’t quite at their peak. Next week the crowds would flock. Families picnicking, kids playing, all lying under the trees to revere. 

Couples, too.

Abruptly turning back, he sped up, and reached the park gate to pound out another mile on the street.

***

It had always been Tooru’s habit to turn up a little late to things. Not everything. At practice he was always early, school on time, trains and buses, he’d arrive with minutes to spare. But for certain events he was invariably delayed. Most people decided he either had a poor sense of timing, or else in his arrogance, he knew people would wait for him. Neither was true. He would add minutes in the shower by deciding to shampoo his hair again. He’d take his time picking a shirt to wear, even if he knew he’d be changing into a team kit very soon. It wasn’t the vanity most everyone assumed, but a tactic.

Stopping to chat to fangirls, accepting their gifts, fooling around in the changing room or on the court prior to the match. All of these were an elongation of the same tactic. He needed to not think. And then, when all the ridiculous nerves had frittered away, he could lead.

He was starting at the bottom with the college team. And this time the nerves were not because he was captain, but because he had something to prove.

Another first day. Another first he was facing alone.

“Get it together, Tooru-chan,” he murmured. “You’re not three years old.”

He pulled on a green tee, a pair of black jeans and some trainers. Picking up his keys, kitbag and wallet, he left the apartment and headed for the college gym.

There were no fangirls to delay him. No one stopped him to ask how he was. And there wasn’t anybody by his side that he could mock and tease and turn into a ball of fury.

His fingers felt stiff. He furled and unfurled them, flexing a span, before curling into fists.

Arriving early, he felt a familiar swoop in his stomach, a clench of his guts, but this time he had no outlet to vent his nerves, and as the spasm intensified, he made a sudden detour to the toilets (next to the changing rooms?)

Two figures were already there when he walked in. Both intent on washing their hands, neither looked up at the intrusion. Not that he’d caught them doing anything compromising, but one was laughing even as the other flicked water in his face.

“It is Psychology and not Dream Class, Sawamura!” Sugawara said, splashing more water from the tap.

“Oi, that’s my shirt! Stop it!” Sawamura yelped, and retreated a step.

“Well, stop being such an intellectual snob.”

“Snob! How do you figure that?”

“You and your ‘He’s working on his assignment’ crack to Kuroo when I got up this morning. All I wanted was coffee but you had to-”

“I don’t call what you did this morning getting up,” Sawamura said and laughed. “More like a crawl into the kitchen before falling asleep at the table again.”

“It’s your fault for making me go for a jog!”

“House rules!” Daichi protested, still laughing. “You agreed.”

“We live in an apartment,” Sugawara said, sounding sour. “I agreed to nothing!” And then, after cupping his hands in the running water, he splashed again, this time directing the water to Sawamura’s chest.

“SUGA!”

“Mmm?”

“You git. I’m completely soaked. I’ll have to change.”

“Get changed, then.” Sugawara licked his lips. “I could splash the shorts, too.”

Despite himself and his current mood, Tooru couldn’t stop his mouth twitching at the corners when he saw Daichi take a step back, his hands automatically covering his groin. But it was that movement that caused Sawamura to look across to him, a flicker then a double take, before finally clearing his throat and raising his hand.

“Oikawa,” he called out, sounding a little desperate as he bowed. “Good to see you.”

“Nice try!” Sugawara replied, and then he too stopped and he twisted his face around, meeting Tooru’s eyes. “Oh... er ... hi.”

And then he smiled at him. And Tooru was suddenly furious at the fact that it was clear Sugawara had no idea he’d been ignored, or if he was he wasn’t the least bit perturbed. Staring stonily ahead, he considered stalking towards a cubicle without saying a word, but just then Sugawara stepped towards him, his smile faltering a little, but still there.

“Um, Oikawa-san,” he said. “About Iwaizumi.”

Tooru didn’t move. He thought about saying ‘Who?’. He thought about ignoring Sugawara. He thought about turning around and walking out. Or laughing light-heartedly.

Tooru did nothing. But Sugawara did. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stared up at him. “I didn’t know he wasn’t here. So the other day, I wasn’t trying to wind you up, or anything like that.”  He wrinkled his nose a little. “Not sure that’s possible, anyway. You’re pretty unflappable. You must ... um ... miss him.”

He stopped speaking and a silence hovered in the air between them. Tooru wondered what to say. And he wasn’t sure if Sugawara was being disarmingly frank, or whether this was some sort of game, maybe to put him off his stride. He felt his eyes narrow.

“Where did Iwaizumi-san end up going?” It was Sawamura speaking, his voice calm but immediate, filling the quiet between them. “Is it close?”

Tooru blinked. “Are you kidding me?”

“Oikawa,” Sawamura murmured. “I ... we ... really have no idea.”

_Really?_

“Forget it,” he said smoothly, and with a sidestep, he made it to the sinks. The clench in his guts had receded now, dulling to the odd twinge, but whether that was down to time and the distraction of encountering this pair, or his own control, Tooru didn’t know.  He wasn’t going to answer and fall into their faux sympathetic fawning – not when he needed to concentrate.

“See you in there, then?” Sugawara said, his voice rising at the end.

“Why else would I be here?” he murmured.

He could see their raised eyebrows and Sawamura’s shrugging shoulders in the mirror, but he didn’t say another word. They left. Tooru clutched the bowl of the sink and let the water run until lukewarm turned to ice. Then he plunged his hands in, scooping up the water to splash his face.

“Bring it on,” he snarled at his reflection.

He could take them. He could take all of them, just as he always did.

 

At a rough count, there were fifty students at the tryouts. The college ran four teams – the last one more for the students who turned up wanting a game but had no great plans to turn pro. Tooru studied the first years as they trooped in, playing a game to see if he could work out who were here on a scholarship and thus expected to make the grade, who had a bitter thirst to succeed because they’d been turned down, and the ones who were here for the fun of it.

Sugawara, with his smiles and that ruffle of his hair as he slid his fingers through it, Tooru presumed was in the latter group. Then he shook himself because presuming anything about Sugawara had cost Seijou points. That he didn’t have a place at the university due to his sporting ability meant nothing. He was tenacious. Anyone who stayed on for their third year, risking their university place, was either monumentally stupid, or had an ego the size of Godzilla. (Dammit, Tooru, why do you keep thinking ...)

Maybe Sugawara just loved the game.

Or Sawamura.

His eyes flicked to Yaku, standing alongside Suga. No surprise that he’d joined them, and the way they were talking, the three of them together, suggested a familiarity beyond volleyball.

The fourth member of their group was a surprise. And yet not. Before he turned around, Tooru had recognised him by the black thatch of hair sticking up on one side, and his stance – equal on both feet – arms akimbo. No knee pads.  Captain of Nekoma. Captain Charisma, he’d nicknamed him all those months ago. What was his name? Tricksy, provocative – he could picture the first time they’d met, eyes narrowing as they’d assessed each other.

And then he turned, his eyes focused on the door in a way that suggested he was waiting for someone else, and he noticed Tooru.

There was no start of recognition, no smile either, but a small nod, and then his eyes flicked back to the door. 

Kuroo. That was it.

Middle Blocker.

Damn.

There was no one else here he recognised. It was possible he’d seen some of them on the television when he’d watched Nationals, but no one he’d familiarised himself with. No Kiryuu. And no Ushiwaka, but then he knew he wasn’t coming here.

_“What are you going to do if you get selected for Japan and Ushiwaka’s on the team?”_

He shuddered. _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!_

And suddenly all he could see in his head was not the group of new students, hopeful as they wait for the coach, for the captains of each team, or the managers. What he saw was a boy getting out of a car, slamming the door and trudging away.

His friend. His boyfriend.

_Shut up._

His ace.

_Shut up._

His ex.

_Shut up!_

Perfect trust.

Broken.

There was a flurry of movement at the door of the gym. Someone bounded in, jumping a little as he scanned the room. Not a coach but a student, with odd sticky-up hair, and shoulders so broad, Tooru wondered if he were Atlas.   A new student judging from the non-college kit he was wearing. The others shifted out the way as he barged through. It could have been aggressive, Tooru supposed, but no one complained. There was a ripple of sound, whispers of which the newcomer appeared oblivious. And then two things happened. Kuroo raised his hand as he began to grin, and the stranger turned full face towards him, letting out a cry.

“Hey, hey heyyyyyy, Kuroo-hoo-hoo!”

_Bingo!_

Bokuto Koutarou, formerly of Fukurodani made his way to the far side of the gym, slapped Kuroo and Yaku on the back (sending the Libero forwards a few steps), punched Sawamura on the arm, received a punch back from Sugawara, and grinned widely.

Bokuto Koutarou. Ace.

_And he knows those guys._

Tooru licked his lips. And then he strode towards them, fixing a smile on his face.

“We almost have enough for a team between us, don’t we?” he said, and bowed, just slightly. “One more Middle Blocker and we’d be set, don’t you think?” He turned to Kuroo. “Nice to meet you again, Kuroo-kun.”

“Oikawa, right?” His eyebrows were raised, but Tooru knew that look. Pretend you weren’t quite sure who was in front of you, despite knowing exactly who they were.

“That’s right,” he said compliantly.

Kuroo continued, “We played a practice match. How’s that guy-”

“I recognise _you_ ,” Tooru said, cutting Kuroo off as he faced Bokuto. “Fukurodani’s ace. I saw you on television.”

“Really?” His eyes were wide, the smile not fading from his face, and Tooru blinked in astonishment. “You’ve heard of me?”

_Was he for real?_

“Yes, of course,” he replied, casting furtive glances at the others to see if they were smirking.  But they weren’t.

“Bokuto-san,” Sawamura said. “This is Oikawa from Aobajousai. He’s a –”

“Setter, right. Yeah, I know.”  Bokuto’s eyelids fluttered, and then his grin became lopsided, his eyes holding a glint of knowledge and maybe calculation. “I heard o’ you, too. Saw a volleyball magazine once and you was in it. Then this guy...” he jerked his thumb at Kuroo, “he said you’ve got a mean ass serve.”

“I try my best,” Tooru said, then added, “Always.”

“Look forward to playin’ with ya,” Bokuto said. Then he laughed. “It’s great here, don’t ya think?”

Tooru smiled back. He actually grinned wide, so infectious was Bokuto’s enthusiasm and his sheer happiness at being around other players, of being in the vicinity of the courts.

_It’s like he belongs here._

“Mmm, could be, Bokuto-kun, could be.”

_It’s like he’s me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Hey. Hey! Bokuto's here!


	10. Gentle Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime meets someone new.
> 
> Although they seem familiar...

**April**

He’d been at Karasuno a fortnight before he saw her. It wasn’t surprising as ordinarily he’d not have had any contact. Why would he, when she was a first year, and Hajime repeating his third? Mid April, and the blossom on the trees was starting to spread as the yellow spring sunshine filtered through branches drenched in pink.

Not something he’d paid much attention to before, despite the near hysteria outside Aobajousai whenever Oikawa was caught in the blossom drift.

_Last year. Last year. Hurrying back from early practise into school. The breeze ruffling around them, and Oikawa laughing as petals danced around him._

One petal had stayed in his hair. Unnoticed by everyone except Hajime, and he remembered having to stuff his hands in his blazer pocket and keep his eyes firmly focused on the pavement in case he resisted and lifted his fingers to brush through Tooru’s hair.

The guilt. And the very real ache at the taboo of it all – not least because Oikawa had gathered even more girls squealing after him once he became Captain.

Someone nudged him. Well, it wasn’t just someone but Ennoshita, who was sitting alongside him, despite the fact that Hajime had reiterated the not needing a mentor fact to him forcefully after the first week.

“What?” he whispered.

“Lesson’s over,” Ennoshita replied, and smiled a little. “You were lost somewhere, so it felt wrong to disturb you, but ... uh ... well ... I thought you might want a heads up.”

His eyes narrowed. “What about?”

“Some of the other volleyball guys are meeting me in here.”

“And you don’t want me here.”

“I’d love you to stay here, Iwaizumi-kun, but I know you won’t want to be here and although I’ve told Nishinoya he’s not to press you into joining, I can’t exactly enforce what he says if you’re in the same classroom.”

“Oh ... right...” He got to his feet, packing his books away. “I’ll ... uh ... leave you to it.”

“Sorry. I know you prefer to sit inside.”

He shrugged. “Makes no difference.”

Except it did make a difference because knowing that Nishinoya wouldn’t be wandering around to ambush him, meant he was free to explore.

“Hey!”

They both looked up, and Hajime watched as a guy walked in. With cropped hair, he resembled a benign version of Tanaka and Hajime vaguely recognised him, but if he hadn’t known they were meeting here, he’d not have immediately connected him to the club.

“Kazu, great! Are the others with you?”

“Not yet. I saw Yuu heading for the cafeteria.” He stopped speaking, swung his bag off his shoulder and then sat on one of the desks. He inclined his head to Hajime. “Hi, are you ... uh ... staying, Iwaizumi-san?”

“He’s not,” Ennoshita put in. “Iwaizumi-kun, this is Narita Kazuhito. Middle Blocker and my former class mate.”

“Former?”

“Before Chikara decided to move up a class, he used to copy my notes all the time,” Narita replied and flashed Iwaizumi a smile as he pulled out a packet of crisps. “Want one?”

Hajime shook his head. “I’m off.”

“You’ve got a while,” Narita said sagely. “The queue’s long.” He crunched on his crisps. “Hisashi was talking to his form tutor, so might be late.”

“Are you vice captain?” Iwaizumi asked, then grimaced because he really didn’t want to show any interest at all.

“Nope. That’s Ryuu ... uh ... Tanaka. Our ace,” Narita replied. “Played five last year and-”

“Yeah, I remember. He’s ... uh ... confrontational,” Hajime muttered, and glanced at the door.

“We prefer to think of it as dedicated,” Ennoshita said with a grin. “Besides, you can talk. Isn’t Kyoutani as ... uh ... fiery?”

Fiery – that was one word for it. The wrong word, he thought. Mad-Dog was volcano threatening to erupt and spill acid at the slightest gravitational pull. A seething mass of fury that even Oikawa hadn’t been able to properly control. He swallowed, fearing he’d let loose invective if he so much as opened his mouth.

“Great athlete,” Narita pondered. “Those jumps of his were amazing. Like a whip crack.”

“That must have been some fearsome training routine you all went through.”

Ennoshita and Narita were staring at him.

_That’s how it is._

Hajime got to his feet. “I might not be at Seijou anymore, but don’t pump me for information.”

“What?”

Lifting his hand, he stalked across the classroom. Ennoshita was babbling something, and Narita appeared to be suffering a coughing fit, but as he reached the corridor, Hajime didn’t look back. Pupils were streaming through the corridor towards him, but he was too annoyed to go with the tide, and pushed through until he reached the stairwell. Resting his arms against the windowsill, he looked across the concrete blocks in front of him, watching as kids ran around on the ground below. Girls were walking arm in arm towards the row of cherry trees, carrying paper bags and bento boxes.

A perfect day full of sunshine and possibilities.

He didn’t head for the cherry trees, but in the opposite direction, heading across concrete and paved paths, under one covered walkway, and out beyond the staff car park. No one else was here, it wasn’t a place for contemplation or chatter, just an area of stark buildings and rows of cars.  But here he could sit for a while, prop his back against the wall, and drown away his thoughts with music.

Half an hour, and then he could return to class.

Pulling out his phone, intent on selecting something loud to burst his eardrums with, his fingers slipped onto contacts.

Tooru.

He’d changed it in November. Not Oikawa, Shittikawa, Asskawa or any of the names he’d assigned him in the past. But Tooru.

I could call him.

Message him.

What does it matter now he’s there?

 **< <Hey>>** he typed and sniffed. _Now what?_ Five weeks since that last phone call. That final text. Neither willing to budge.

_He could have contacted me._

_But one of us has to make the first move?  Don’t we?_

Or not.

_I’m fine. He’ll get in touch if he needs me. He always does._

And then, as he was still deliberating ( _I could just ask him how Tokyo is._ ) he heard a sudden shriek, and then the all too familiar sound of the bounce of a ball. His breath caught, his mouth dried as he twisted his head around and finally realised exactly where he was.

It was the gym. Fuck it!  He could hear a practise going on, and as he peered closer, he caught sight of white taped lines on a gymnasium floor. A volleyball court – he was sure. Ennoshita might be having a meeting, but the other members of his team clearly thought practise was more important.

“Hey, go get that!” someone inside yelled.

“Sure.” Another voice, obedient, shrill.

 _Huh? That’s not_... Taking a deep breath, Hajime allowed a smile to creep onto his face and unknotted his brow.  Girls’ volleyball. No danger he’d be dragged into that. He could sit, eat his lunch and ... now he thought about it, the sound of volleyballs thumping on the floor, of yells and cries as someone received or served well, the yelps as a block failed or a spike was missed, all were oddly relaxing when there was no connection to himself.

“Receives!” ordered someone. “Line up.”

And a few minutes later, the same voice. “Another. That went wild. Wow, can tell you’re not a Libero!”

“Sorry! Give me another and I’ll try-”

“We’ll be here all day,” someone joked. “Next!”

“But I-”

“Don’t argue, or you’ll be running more laps.”

 _Don’t argue._ That took him back. Six years before and eager to learn, both he and Oikawa had clamoured to practise, accepting everything taught. Running laps with no complaint, but inside he’d burned, aching to spike and knowing all Oikawa had wanted to do was set and set and set again. They’d arrived early some days, and unable to get in the gym, had practised outside, pissing off the third years that’d arrived late. And been told to run more laps for their cheek. Different at Aobajousai, there their eagerness had been welcomed, but Kitigawa Daiichi had been a place for senpais to give orders and kouhais to listen and never question.

He’d wanted to kick out at the regime. Had even got as far as investigating other clubs (baseball, he’d been great with a bat and fast, always fast, he could have joined athletics club with no problems) but Oikawa had ... no, that wasn’t true ... Oikawa would have understood him leaving. But Hajime had already felt the heft of the ball in his hand after a perfect toss, had slammed the ball down past a blocker, and known the excitement of a spike beating the opponents. He couldn’t have left if he’d tried.

The phone in his pocket started to hum.

**[How’s it going?]**

Hajime stared at the screen, his eyes blurring. He checked the name ... again ... just in case ... then stifled the sigh.

 ** _[Not bad. How’s things with you?]_** he managed, his fingers slippery.

**[Yeah, good, thx. Wanna meet up?]**

 “Okay, we’re done.”

The girl’s voice was getting louder, even as the sounds of the practice were ending.

“Roll up the net. There’s a gym class in here later.”

“Um...”

“What is it?”

There was something about the girl’s irritation, the snappishness of her question that caught Hajime’s attention. Glancing up from his phone, he stopped letting their conversation wash over him, and listened.

“I ... um ... wondered... uh ... if ... well ... if the gym isn’t being used.”

“It is being used. I just said that.”

“No, I meant if it’s not being used until this afternoon, then could I stay?”

“Why?”

“Practise?”She sounded unsure.

“By yourself?” Another girl started to laugh. “The thing you need to practise is receives, and you can hardly do that alone.”

“But if I-”

“I have to lock up.”

And despite himself, Hajime found he’d put the phone back in his pocket and had slowly got to his feet, edging closer towards the window.

There were probably ten girls in the gym, maybe more, but it barely scraped double digits. Most were preoccupied with clearing away, but three remained in the centre of the court. Squinting through the blind, Hajime could see their forms but not the features. One was tall, one was shorter, and the third, the one he gathered wanted to stay behind – the Not-a-Libero –was standing  out of his view.

“May I borrow a ball, then?” the non-Libero asked, ultra politely.

“What for?”

“I’d like to practise outside, if that’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. I can’t take the risk of you losing the ball.”

“Oh. I’d be care-”

“Team, gather round!” It was the strident girl, tall, and now she’d moved, Hajime caught sight of her face. Long black hair braided tight in one swinging plait, and a pinched expression to her lips. She was in training kit, not uniform, and despite the fact that they’d been practising, she looked calm and unflappable. The others around her varied from pink in the face to sweating as they stopped their exertions.

“Listen up.  We’re a team, got that.”

“Yes!” they all said, some shouting, others dutiful.

“So we practise as a team, got that!”

“Yes.”

“Way to put someone in their place,” Hajime murmured, thinking of the first year.

“Good!” she swiped, then with a flick of her head, she zipped up her training top. “See you all here at four, all right?”

“I’ll be late. I have a guidance meeting.”

“Fine. Anyone else?”

No one demurred. But no one roared another enthusiastic yes, and as he watched them through this gap in the blind, there was nothing in them that spoke of life and fun. Two weeks in and there was already a weariness about them.

The Seijou girls team had been decent. They’d never made it to Nationals in Hajime’s time there, or finals –the Queens dominating much in the same way as Shiratorizawa – but they’d been knocked out at the semi finals stage twice, and were always mentioned as a top eight team.

But for all that. For all their lack of success and failure to live up to their initial promise, the girls had raced to practise as eagerly as the boys’ team.

He scowled but it wasn’t his problem and, remembering his message, he pulled out his phone again and slid down the wall.

 **[Makki suggests the burger place on Saturday]** Matsukawa had texted. **[I finish work at six, so could meet you there.]**

_Why not?_

**[ _Sounds good._ ] **

“OI!”

“Huh?”

He snapped his head up, to see the angry girl from the gym standing over him. With one hand on her hip and the other stretched in front of her, she made a grab, swooping downwards to his phone. He dodged, then scrambled to his feet. “What the hell-”

“Don’t start with that. What are you doing here?”

“Eating lunch,” he snapped, shoving his left over sandwich wrapper under her nose. “Why is there a law against that?”

“And the phone?”

“I was sending a message. It’s called communication,” he retorted.

She held out her hand. “Show me.”

“Go bollocks!” he laughed.

“Then I’m telling the Dean.”

“The Dean?”

“Yes,” she said, not moving an inch. Behind her, he could see one of the other team members approaching, eyes wide, tentatively flapping her hand.

“Why would he be interested in my social arrangements for the weekend?”

She fixed him with a look. He snorted. _You’ll need to do far better than that,_ he thought, grasping his phone more firmly in his hand.

“I saw you by the window.”

He stared back. “And?”

“Why were you there?”

“I was eating lunch. I told you.”

“By the window?”

He shrugged. “You were loud. I heard voices.”

“And thought you’d catch us in compromising positions.”

He goggled. “Say what?”

“Photos,” she said. “Candid pictures. Or maybe videos. Where were you going to upload them? Facebook? Or were you going to send them-”

“Hey, hey, hey!” he yelled. “What the fuck do you take me for?”

“A pervert who hangs around the girls’ gym!” she replied, not the least bit put off by him shouting.

“What! That’s ...” He raised his hands, then seeing the other girl draw closer, a worried expression on her face, he thrust his phone towards them. And more of the team were congregating now, some hovering by the door, others keeping their heads down as they scurried away. “Check it. Check the last few photos if you’re that paranoid. I was sitting here having lunch, that’s all.”

She made to take the phone, but just as her hand came into contact with it, Hajime jerked it away, suddenly aghast at what might appear.  “It’s locked. Hold on,” he muttered, even as she glared.

“Show me. Or I am telling the Dean.”

His fingers found his photo file, he held his breath, but the last pictures... the very last ones weren’t – “Here you go,” he said gruffly, and held it out to her. “I’m scrolling through, and look. Nothing there.”

She narrowed her eyes, looked at the pictures, then back at him. “Your brothers?”

“Yeah.” He slid his finger back, showing her another. “They like Star Wars. See, I’m not in the habit of snapping girls in gym shorts, okay.”

She wasn’t listening, at least she didn’t appear to be, her attention far away even as she lifted her arm and gestured for her teammate to join her. “Aimi, can you see who I can see?”

“Hmm?” The girl came closer. She pushed her light brown hair off her face, clipping it back with a sparkling slide, before she focused on Hajime’s phone. “That’s ... Oikawa Tooru, isn’t it?”

_Fuck! What had he flicked to?_

He snatched back his phone. It was a graduation picture. One he’d taken of Tooru when he was accepting his certificate. He was smiling, pure pleasure as the crowd whooped his name.

“Do you know him?” the first girl questioned. She sounded curious, lighter and far friendlier now.

Hajime grimaced. He’d spent a lifetime with people – girls and boys – being nice to him merely to get to Oikawa.

“A little,” he conceded.  “We were at school together.”

“Oh... so what are you doing here?”

“Eating lunch,” he muttered, then picking up his bag, he turned on his heel. “Or I was. Now that you’ve established I’m not some fricking perv, can I go now?”

“But you’re in a Karasuno uniform.”

“Ten out of ten for observation,” he replied, scowling.

“Why?” she stepped closer.

“Why not? Why are you here?”

“Are you a spy?”

He burst into laughter. “A spy?  What would I have to spy on? You think I’m going to spill the secrets of your training regime to Niiyama?”

“He could have got the wrong gym,” Aimi-the girl with hair slides- said. She was bolder now, the flapping hand and nervous look gone as she faced him down. “Might want to see the boys in action.”

“Um...” A girl wriggled through the group at the door. She scrunched up her nose, then tiptoed closer, tossing her head a little, as she approached.

Silver-blonde hair. Flopping over her face and a little messy.  Pretty, he thought inconsequentially. And also very pink in the face.

“Shall we tell the Dean, then? Or Takeda-sensei?” Aimi asked.

“Um...” the blonde girl repeated. She smiled nervously. “I... I ... I’ve s-seen him at school before. He’s ... uh ... in Class Five, I think.”

“How would a first year know that?” the Captain asked scornfully.

Hajime glared at her, then peered across to the blonde girl. First year, short, all gangling limbs and reddened arms from practising but not being able to handle a receive properly.

“He-he’s a fr-friend of Ennoshita-san,” she stuttered. “I had to go into the classroom and ... uh ...”

Did she? Hajime couldn’t remember. And it wasn’t as if she was unnoticeable – not with that colour hair. Unless it was dyed. Maybe it was and –

“I’ve transferred in,” he said at last. “New student. And yeah, class five.”

Clicking her tongue, the captain and Aimi moved away, but the blonde girl shuffled only a few steps, flicking her gaze from the floor and back to him.

“Um...” she said for the third time.

“What?” he asked, then swallowed because he hadn’t meant that to come out harshly. “Thanks for backing me up. I ... uh ... don’t remember seeing you – sorry.”

“No problem,” she murmured, and then with a small giggle she started to smile. A wide beam of a smile, pure pleasure, the likes of which he’d seen before, but for the life of him couldn’t remember where.

“You’re Iwaizumi Hajime,” she continued, no query in her voice. “I’ve seen you before. Oikawa Tooru’s friend and ace.”

“Uh...” And now he was tongue-tied and shuffling his feet. But he couldn’t exactly deny it. “Yeah, that’s me. Have you been to a game or something?”

She shook her head, the smile didn’t falter. “Couldn’t get time off school, but my brother and his friends watched videos of your games at our house last summer, so ...”

“Your brother?”  Although why he was asking, he had no idea, because it was obvious now.

“He used to play for Karasuno.”She bowed, blinked, and then patted the back of her head. “My name’s Sugawara Chiharu. Pleased to meet you, Iwaizumi-san.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lookie-lookie who Hajime's just met. :D :D :D! 
> 
> I'm very fond of Chiharu, and if you'd like to read more about her, then you could check out 'Running in the Family' which is a DaiSuga story of mine.


	11. Swooping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru has visitors ... and is there a friendship about to bud?

**Golden Week**

“Where’s Iwa-chan-san?”

“Hmm?”  Tooru looked up from the magazine he was flipping through, and met the inquisitive brown eyes of his nephew across the breakfast bar.

Takeru repeated the question, looking around the apartment as if he expected Hajime to miraculously appear.

“In Miyagi,” Tooru replied. “More cereal?”

He shook his head, then spooned in the last of the cocoa pops, slurping at the milk in a way that made his mum shudder.

“Gross child,” she admonished and stepped back to them, coffee pot in hand. “Top up, Tooru-chan.”

“Thanks.” He pushed the mug towards her, then focused his attention back on the crossword he’d given up on yesterday.

“Why is he in Miyagi? Has he gone home for Golden Week?” Takeru persisted. “I like Iwa-chan-san.”

“Shh,” Hoshiyo chided, rubbing his shaven head. “Leave Tooru alone.

“He lives there,” Tooru replied lightly, then reached across to the counter to pick up a pen and began to shade a series of squares.

“Why? I thought he was coming to college with you and you were going to play volleyball together. You said I could come and watch you both play and - ”

“If you want to get to the Sky Tree, then you need to have a wash and clean your teeth, Takeru,” Hoshiyo said, adding loudly when he hesitated, “Now would be good.”

Tooru coloured in another square, but he could feel his sister’s eyes boring into him.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured. “Seven year olds have no tact at all.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?” She sipped her coffee, then pushing her hair back behind her ear, she gave him a small smile. “Must be odd not having Hajime on hand.”

He shrugged and picked up his own coffee, ignoring her.

“You _could_ have come home.”

“Practise,” he replied. “I’m starting at the bottom again, so I must put in more effort. It’s a real step up here.”

“You’re enjoying it, yes?”

“Starting to,” he replied, and pushed away the magazine. “I’ve found someone I think I can work with. If we can form a unit, then...”

“I meant your course,” Hoshiyo murmured.

“Oh, that.” He smiled. “Mmm, it’s not bad.”

“Made friends?”

 _Friends?_ Well, he was talking to Sugawara and Yaku now. It seemed politic as he could hardly ignore them forever, not when they were all intent on playing volleyball.

He didn’t hang out with any of them, though. After practise, when they’d mention grabbing a coffee, he’d head back here – alone – and crash on the sofa.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her.

“If you say so,” she murmured. “How is he, anyway?”

“Who?” he asked and picked up his pen again, twirling it between his fingers.

She fixed him with a look, the arch of one eyebrow so reminiscent of his mother’s that he had to press his lips together to stop himself telling her that and risking her throwing her coffee at his face.

“Hajime. Iwa-chan. You know, your childhood friend? How’s he doing?”

“Him ...” He tapped the pen on the counter, and frowned at the crossword. “He’s fine.”

“You know that, do you?”

“Of course,” he said, his tone clipped.

_(“Yeah, he’s doing all right. Issei saw him last week, and I’ll see if I can catch up with him during Golden Week. You’re coming back, right?”_

_“Neesan’s coming to stay, Makki, so I doubt it.”)_

“Only Mum said you’d had an argument. Says you were really moody on holiday, which is one of the reasons we’re here.”

“Sorry?”

“Keep your mind off things, is how she put it.” Hoshiyo drank some more coffee, then picked at a piece of shredded omelette. “I wasn’t going to pass up a free trip to Tokyo, not with Takeru to entertain, but ... uh ...” She leant across the breakfast bar, letting her fingers grace his hand. The gesture surprised him and he guessed she must have seen that on his face, because with a shake of her head, Hoshiyo removed her hand. “How are you really?”

“I’m fi-”

“Fine, yes, I know,” she sighed. “You look tired, but I don’t think it’s from staying out late because every time anyone’s called, you’ve picked up your phone almost immediately.  So, this row with Hajime, have you made up?”

He swallowed more of his coffee, letting the warmth trickle down his throat. _Say yes, and then she’ll stop._ He’d forgotten to add sugar, but somehow the bitterness was comforting, reminding Tooru that there were other things to think about.

“He’s not been in touch.”

“And have you called him?”

He shrugged again.

“Why not? I thought you were ‘besties’,” she said, half mocking.

“Because ...”

“Because you’re stubborn and you want him to make the first move.”

“No!” he said, stung. “Iwa-chan made it very clear that - ” He closed his eyes, screwing them tight to block out the picture of that last screaming row and the door slamming in his face. 

“Just send him a text!  How hard is it?”

“He knows where I am,” Tooru muttered and shot her a dark look. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”

She drained her coffee. “Suit yourself. Maybe it’s good for the pair of you to have a break. ” Then getting to her feet, she cleared the table, putting the dishes in the sink. “You should stop moping though. Find some new friends. Have a bit of fun.”

“I am having fun.”

“Fun that doesn’t involve volleyball,” she said. “College should be the time of your life, Tooru. Live a little before you have to knuckle down and live in the real world.”

“Like you did, you mean?”

Hoshiyo smirked, and with a flashing look at the door, she waltzed back to Tooru, whispering in his ear, “I had an amazing time, and you can, too. The one big difference is that _you_ won’t get pregnant.”

 

It was a warm morning when they set out. Takeru had decreed he wanted to hold both their hands, which was unusual for him, but Tooru figured that for all his enthusiasm, he was wary of the busy streets and the mass of cars on the road. And he didn’t object to wearing a facemask, either, letting his mum tie it behind his ears without complaint.

“There’s a queue,” he moped, squeezing Tooru’s hand. “How long will we have to wait?”

“Don’t moan,” Hoshiyo replied. “Granddad bought priority tickets, so we can walk straight to the front.”

He couldn’t see her mouth, but from the way her eyes were darting from the pavement to the tower, she was clearly trepidatious.

“Everything all right, neesan?” he murmured.

“The things we do for our kids,” she said, her voice muffled against her mask.

“I could take him myself.”

“I’m fine.”

He raised his eyebrows, snorting at the echo of her earlier words, but she didn’t say anything else. Yet she kept hold of Takeru’s hand, not dragging her feet as they walked to the front of the queue.

It was crowded outside the entrance, people unintentionally jostling as they took out their cameras. He recognised the odd English phrase, and something he thought was German, as tourists hovered.

“The Sky Tree is six hundred and thirty four metres, Takeru,” Tooru said, and crouched by his nephew’s side. That’s about the same height as three hundred and fifty of me. Or five hundred Takerus standing on each other’s shoulders.”

“Wow.” His eyes were round as he stared up at the tower in front of them. “Are we going to the very top?”

“No, we can go up to the second observation deck, and then we’ll get coffee at the restaurant.”

“I don’t like coffee,” Takeru said, sounding mutinous.

“Juice, then,” Tooru laughed. “Or you can have water like me.”

Catching his sister’s eye and noting the slightly blanched cheeks, he straightened up, murmuring, “You don’t have to come to the top with us. Stay in the restaurant, if you – AH!”He toppled a little as someone backed into him. “Watch where you’re – Oh!”

“Sorry, sorry, someone shoved me,” came a breathy voice. And then a blink, and even though the man in front of him was wearing a mask, Tooru could see the smile in his eyes. “Oikawa-kun, hello! You didn’t go home, then?”

_Had I said I would?_

“Sugawara.” He smiled before he could collect himself, then stifled it. “You haven’t gone back to Miyagi, either.”

“Miyagi?” His sister’s ears pricked up. “Were you at Aobajousai, too?”

“No, I ... er ...” Sugawara hesitated, glancing at Tooru before fully comprehending that he wasn’t alone. He pulled down his mask. “I’m sorry. Have I disturbed you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Tooru replied. “This is my sister. Neesan, this is Sugawara-kun, he’s at college with me, and yes, he’s from Miyagi but not Seijou.”

He felt a nudge on his arm, a soft headbutt, and with a slight grin, placed his hand on his nephew’s head. “And this is Takeru, my sister’s son. We’re about to go up the Sky Tree.”

Sugawara’s eyes gleamed, and he smiled warmly at Takeru. “You’re very lucky. I’ve not been yet. The queues always look so long.”

“Well, this is fortunate then,” Hoshiyo said swiftly. “We have a spare ticket, if you’d like it, Sugawara-kun.”

“We do?” Tooru stared at her, not quite believing what she was about to do. “Neesan, what are you -”

She swallowed, but the colour was back in her cheeks as she turned to her son. “You won’t mind, will you, Take-chan, if Mummy doesn’t come with you?”

He scowled. “Is Tooru still coming?”

“Of course!” she soothed. “Mummy will meet you later. I could do all the boring shopping things you hate, while you have fun with Tooru and his friend.”

“I can’t possibly take -”

“Yes,” she half-yelped, and grabbed his sleeve. “Honestly, Sugawara, you can have mine. I’d ... uh ... rather not ... and ...” She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, I hate heights. I can feel my heart racing before we even get inside, but I don’t want Takeru to get freaked out if ... uh ... I freak out.”

“Um... well...” He shot a helpless look at Tooru. “I really don’t know what to say. It’s very kind of you.”

Raising his eyebrows, Tooru pulled the tickets out of his bag. “Say yes, Sugawara, unless you _really_ don’t want to. Neesan’s not being kind, I promise you.”

“Well ... um ...” He tilted his head back, taking in the tower again. “If you’re sure and ... um ... if that’s all right with you, Takeru-chan.”

Takeru gnawed on his bottom lip and scowled pugnaciously. “You know my uncle?”

“I do.”

“Are you a volleyball player like him?”

Sugawara laughed. “I do play volleyball, but I’m not at all like Oikawa-san. He’s amazing, isn’t he?”

Takeru nodded, and squeezed Tooru’s hand tighter. “I’m gonna be just like him.” Then he scrunched up his nose, considering. “Akchully, I’m gonna be better.”

“Only if you practise,” Tooru replied, trying to sound stern, but knowing the effect had been ruined by the laugh and pride bubbling in his throat. “Come on, then. Neesan, shall we meet you in an hour?”

Looking much brighter, her shoulders loosening, Hoshiyo bent down to give Takeru a kiss then released his hand. “Make it two, will you? I could be boring in quite a lot of shops then. We can meet by the aquarium, yes? See all the pretty fish, Take-chan.”

“I s’pose,” he said.

“Don’t sulk,” she laughed. “You’ll have much more fun without me.”

 

There was a naturalness about Sugawara that Tooru hadn’t noticed before. Takeru could, he knew, be a little shit with people he didn’t know, but faced with Sugawara’s incredibly disarming smile, he stopped looking mutinous and opened up. It helped, Tooru thought, that Sugawara didn’t talk down to Takeru, didn’t even _look_ down on him, but crouched to his level, and once they reached the second observation deck, he sat on the floor with him, pointing out the bridges across the Sumida river and trying to name them all without the help of the guide.

“Sure you’re not taking Geography of Tokyo as your major?” Tooru muttered.

“Ha – no. I’m an enthusiastic tourist, that’s all,” Sugawara replied. He took a breath. “I’ve wanted to come here since it was built, so I’ve read up on it.” Smiling, he leant forwards, his attention on one of the roads leading out of the city. “Saitama’s that way, right?”

“Not sure.” Tooru joined them on the floor, shuffling behind Takeru to rest his chin on his head. “Why do you ask?”

“We spent last summer there,” Sugawara murmured. “Karasuno, I mean. That’s where we met Bokuto. Kuroo and Morisuke we’d already met during last year’s Golden Week.”

“You look wistful,” Tooru replied.

“Do I?”

“Mmm, reminiscing usually makes people sad, which is why I don’t.”

“I’m not sad,” he said, cocking his head sideways. “How can anyone be sad faced with this view?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Tooru replied, and gestured to the glass floor. “Seeing how tiny everything is somehow makes me realise how insignificant we are.”

“Don’t look down, then,” Sugawara said, and tilting his head back he let out a chuckle and a sigh. “Being able to look up and out makes me hopeful for the future. It’s like it’s all there waiting.”

Takeru began to fidget, falling forwards until he was on all fours. And Tooru supposed he should say something to stop him from pressing his nose on the glass floor, because it was hardly hygienic, but Takeru never responded well to orders.

“Want to take some photos, Take-chan?” he said, and pulled out his phone.

Eyes lit up, Takeru took it and slid away on his bottom, snapping several pictures before he’d even held the phone up properly.

 “I wonder what Takahisho would say about our differing opinions,” Tooru mused.

“Hmm?”

“Our views on the view,” Tooru explained, casting Sugawara a sideways glance.

Sugawara snorted. “As we’re not female, I doubt he’ll have any opinion at all.”

“You’ve noticed, then?”

“That he’s a little too biased towards the ‘ladies’,” Sugawara mimicked and waggled his eyebrows.

_Very blond eyebrows._

“I thought it was just me he ignored.”

“No, it’s only that you’re the biggest threat.”

“Hmm?” Oikawa kept his mouth straight.

“Oh, come on, Oikawa-kun, you had a fanclub at Seijou, and nothing’s changed in Tokyo.”  And then he coughed a little, clearing his throat and Tooru instinctively stiffened, sensing he was about to veer into different territory.

“I should find-”

“I want to clear something up,” Sugawara said at the same time, and from the way he stared, Tooru felt compelled to listen.

“Sounds serious,” he mumbled.

Sugawara chewed his lower lip, and gave Tooru a tight sort of smile. “Um, well, it’s like this.” He gave his lip a final nibble then ploughed on. “Neither Daichi nor I knew Iwaizumi-san was at Karasuno, so ... uh ... we weren’t ever laughing and ... um ... we wouldn’t anyway. I mean rivalries at school are one thing, but that’s all they were, and I’d really hate ... well, we’d both really hate it if you thought we’d known and were trying to wind you up because that’s really not –”

Tooru stared as Sugawara continued, taking in the furrows in his forehead, and his hands waving around as he tried to explain. Noticing his cheeks pinking, he grinned at him. “You can breathe, you know.”

“Ha!” He stopped and then inhaled sharply. “I talk too much, sorry. But ... um ... I hope you believe me.”

“I do,” Oikawa replied, considering.  Yahaba’s face flashed into his mind, the call a few nights before about Kunimi’s serve. “Although it’s odd that you didn’t know. Are you not talking to the new captain?”

“Oh, yes, well, we are, but Daichi wanted to give Ennoshita – that’s the new captain – a bit of space. Doesn’t want them to feel we’re breathing down their necks. Daichi and Asahi cast long shadows, you see.”

“But you have been in touch.”

“Ah, well, sort of. I spoke to Yacchan – she’s the manager now.”

Blonde. Nervy. Short. Yahaba had fancied her and nearly had Monk-chan’s fist in his face as a consequence.

“Can’t quite place her,” Tooru replied. “Carry on.”

“Not much more to tell. She called me up about something and then ... uh... well, she told me Iwaizumi-san was at Karasuno. I think he surprised Hinata in the toilets. Poor kid.” He smiled again, a soft smile, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Anyway, I ... oh, sorry.” Breaking off, Sugawara pulled his phone out of his pocket, mouthed another apology to Tooru, then answered.

“Hi there,” he said, his voice much warmer and lower as he angled his body away from Tooru. “You won’t guess where I am?”

With no inclination to eavesdrop, Tooru turned his head, watching Takeru wriggling between people’s legs, chattering apologies as he slipped to the front to take his photographs.

“Oikawa’s sister’s like you, so I took her ticket,” Sugawara was saying. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t mind.”

Takeru was frowning at something, then with a shrug of his shoulders, he twisted back, scanning the field of grown-ups before him before sighting Tooru.

“Message for you,” he said, his voice a little sing-song as he handed back the phone.

“Probably Mummy,” Tooru said, although it wasn’t nearly time to meet up. He glanced at his screen.

His breath halted in his chest.

**[Oikawa?]**

_Iwa-chan._

With surprising presence of mind, he managed to type a reply. Nothing flash, just a ‘yes’ followed by a ‘hi, there.’

 ** _[Are you home?]_** Iwa-chan typed.

**[No. I’m in Tokyo. Training.]**

**_[Ah. Going well?]_ **

**[Yes, not bad.]** What could he say? That the set up was fantastic, the coaches incredible and the standard so high, Tooru thought he’d died and gone to volleyball heaven. And god, he was tempted, tempted to tell Iwa-chan exactly what he was missing, but ... Hajime was reaching out.

**_[I’m really pleased for you.]_ **

And he was. He would be. Tooru knew that because as stubborn as Hajime could be, he also knew there wasn’t a petty bone in his body.

_Not like me._

Out of the corner of his eye, Sugawara moved, and then his voice rippled towards him, higher and lighter than before.

“Oh, that’s great! Well, no, not great that you’ve fallen out, but ... you know what I mean!”

 **[How are you?]** Tooru typed back. _Should I mention school?_

**_[Yeah, not bad. It’s different.]_ **

**[Mmm, I guess it would be.]**

“So if you’re coming back tomorrow-”

**_[I’ve got some news.]_ **

**[What’s that, then?]**

**_[Like to tell you face to face really.]_ **

**[I can’t leave Tokyo. Sorry, Neesan’s here with Takeru.]**

“Then we could make the matches,” Sugawara said, and started to smile extra wide. “Can’t wait.”

**_[I could come to you]_ **

Tooru gaped. His fingers had become unaccountably clammy.

**[What?]**

**_[I’ll come and see you in Tokyo. If that’s all right with you.]_ **

“Our kouhais are going to be so surprised to see us. Yacchan sent me the schedule, but I swore her to secrecy.”

_Tokyo. He’s offering to come here. Has something to tell me._

“Kuroo and Bokuto went to Fukurodani this morning. Morisuke said he’d wait for me, so depending when you get back.” Suga laughed, and turned away again, his voice becoming more intimate. “Can’t wait, Dai.”

_Tokyo._

He stared up at the ceiling. The glass roof sparked as the sun came out from behind a cloud, Tokyo lit below and all around.

_Don’t look down, or back. Don’t waste time on reminiscing. Focus, Tooru-chan._

**[What are you doing in Tokyo?]**

**_[Nothing. I’ll come and see you. End of the week, okay?]_ **

When the matches are over.

_How the hell can he afford to get here if it’s not the team coach?_

**[Don’t bother.]**

**_[What?]_ **

**[Stay with your new friends.]**

**_[Wtf!!!! Why did you txt me? just to have a go!]_ **

**[Me text you? You’re the one desperate to talk to me!]**

**_[Don’t fukcing lie.]_ **

“See you later, then.” Sugawara clicked his phone off, then after a sigh and a giggle, he faced Tooru. “Sorry, that was Daichi.” Then he leant closer. “Are you all right, Oikawa-kun? Only you’ve gone very pale.”


	12. Squall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two most popular characters return :D
> 
> Yeah, the Chibis are back in this Iwa-chan centreic chapter.

**Golden Week**

For the first time in six years, the Iwaizumi family were all in Miyagi for Golden Week.  Whilst Hajime usually stuck around for training, his mum in the past had taken the twins away to visit relatives, for two or three days at least. 

“I thought Mum didn’t book us in to any classes?” Koji asked as they wandered through the gateway of Little Tykes.

“She didn’t,” Hajime replied. “But we can come here and practise any time we want, so might as well.”

“Boring,” Saburo muttered, kicking a stone and sending it skidding across the car park. “Couldn’t we have stayed at home?”

“Yeah, well, we’re here now,” Hajime said. “And I’ve not seen you play for ages.” He kept his voice even, recognising that his brother was kicking off out of frustration more than anything. “We can get burgers after, if you want. Dad’s given us some money.”

“And a comic?” Koji suggested.

Hajime cuffed his head. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Still don’t understand why we’ve stayed here,” Saburo grumbled. “I like going away.”

“Guess mum didn’t feel like it,” Hajime said, deliberately vague. Stretching out his hands, he propelled the pair of them forwards. “C’mon, I wanna see what you can do.”

 

Little Tykes was busy, but not excessively so. Classes, as expected, were full, but there was space outside. So, suitably ensconced on a grass court in the corner, Hajime stripped down to his shorts, removed his hoodie, and picked up a volleyball.

He twirled it between his fingers, then lifting it to his face he inhaled. Dumb, he knew, but there’d been times in matches where he’d needed the small moments of quiet touch to connect him to the reality of the game. He remembered Oikawa taking time out to get in the zone for his serve, but he’d never needed that. Not because his serve required far less focus, but because he’d always played better on instinct and rage.

“Nii-san?”

“Uh... what is it, Koji?”

“You haven’t stretched.”

“I will.”

“You should,” Saburo muttered and scowled at him. He bent his leg, holding his ankle as he worked the hamstring, switching for the other one, while Koji rolled his shoulders back, grinning back.

They weren’t opposites. There was no good or evil twin, but Koji had always been the lighter of the pair, while Saburo favoured Hajime, darker and with an inclination to brood.

“Tooru-niisan says stretching’s very important,” Koji added. “Last time we came with him, he wouldn’t let us get on the court until we’d properly warmed up.”

“He’s right.”   _He’s always fucking right._ “Okay, let’s start laps. Twenty before we start. That’s what we had to do at Seijou.”

“No!” they both yelped.

“Someone else will take the court,” Koji said reasonably.

“He’s kidding,” Saburo said. “Look, he’s trying not to laugh.”

“Yeah, I’m kidding. But stretch a bit more and then you can practise serves, okay?  I’ll receive.”

He wandered to one end of the court, still clutching the ball, and then, after another brief spin of the ball, he began his run up. There was no one cheering for him. No one shouting ‘Push it, Hajime’ and no cry from the Seijou crowd, but as he tossed the ball into the air, he felt its wake brush against his cheek, and then his hand came down plum in the centre and he powered it over the net.

_Yes!_ He pumped his fist, feeling the release of tension from his shoulders, and then started to laugh.

Both twins, hands crossed over their chests, were scowling at him now. Koji broke first, turning away to pick up the ball, but Saburo stayed where he was. “How are we supposed to get that?” he yelled. “Not fair!”

“Service Ace!” he called back. “And, yeah, not fair at all. But one day, Sabu-chan, you’ll be thumping them that hard too.”

He assumed his best pose, legs apart, bent at the knees and arms outstretched at waist level. “Bring it on, guys!”

Because his brothers were grasping the concept of aiming a spike, but weren’t especially powerful, Hajime found himself getting a reasonable work out. Positioning himself in the centre of the court, he was soon diving to the left and right, and having to run forwards to receive the ball. The twins were at the age where they knew if someone was letting them win, so although he didn’t put his best into it, he also didn’t stint on trying to get a ball back to them.  It was fun watching them, great to see the clouds leaving Saburo’s face, and hearing Koji whoop with joy when his serve touched the net and then tipped over, leaving Hajime stranded on the ground.  He rolled over, made a grab for the ball, and then threw it back over to them. But instead of catching and walking back to the service line, Saburo received it (his tongue sticking out and eyes intent) then flipped it towards Koji. He leapt high, hand raised, and to Hajime it was as if he were hovering in the air, before slamming the ball past Hajime’s outstretched hand.

“WE WINNNNN!” Koji yelled, running around the court. He slapped Saburo’s outstretched palm, twisted around to give him a fist bump, and then the pair of them barged each other with their chests.

“ONE POINT!” Hajime called out from the ground. “And put your shirts back on!”

The ball had bobbled away finally coming to rest near a set of benches by the courts, and it was as he was getting up to fetch it that he noticed a figure sitting there. He couldn’t tell who it was at first, all he could make out were slim legs in green shorts, and trainers with a zigzagging pink stripe on them. And he’d have thought nothing more of the spectator, except that there was a slight stiffening of their shoulders as he approached. As he got closer, the face, which had been staring at the ground, tilted up and the hood fell down, to reveal small slanting features, and a silvery mop of hair.

She smiled. It was wobbly. She tried again, almost meeting his eyes. “Hi.”

“Sugawara-kun, what are you doing here?” Hajime replied, then shook his head because why shouldn’t she be at Little Tykes?

“Oh... uh ... I’m supposed to be... I mean I _am_ meeting some of the team ... but I’m early.”

“You’re training here?”

“Some of us, yes,” she said and gnawed on her upper lip.

“Not at Karasuno? Don’t you go away for training camp, or something?”

“The boys do.”  Hunching over, she reached under the bench and with a smile pulled out the ball. “Your brothers are cute.”

“If you say so,” he snorted. “Most of the time they’re a pain in the ar- ... uh ... butt.”

“Both Aces in the making, I bet,” she said, and tossed him the ball.

He caught it one handed. “Yeah, maybe, Saburo – he’s the taller one – has got the determination. Koji’s a bit more...uh ... undecided I guess.”

“And you’re Hajime,” she blurted out. “First, second and third sons.” And then she faltered. “I’m s-sorry, that was rude.”

“Was it?” He grinned at her. “My parents kept it simple. It was kinda cool being the only kid who could write their name before starting kindergarten.”

“Nii-saaaaan!”

He raised his eyebrows, and lifted the ball to his chest. “They want their target back.”

“Sure.” She started to sit back down, then faltered. “Uh... would you like a Setter? Only, I’ve got nothing to do until anyone turns up and ... um ...”

“Setter... Like your brother, right?”

“I’d like to be,” she said, sounding rueful as she flipped her hair back from her face. “Depends if I get the chance, but it’s what I played at Junior High.”

Her eyes were imploring. Blue eyes staring up at him, before quickly darting downwards.  “Sorry, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” he assured her. “And you have to be better than me. So ... yeah, thank you very much.”  Turning his head, he whistled across to his brothers. “Guys, I’ve found us a Setter. Say hello to Sugawara-san.”

Although they looked at her dubiously when she bounded on the court, both Koji and Saburo were too well mannered to object, giving stiff little bows, and odd mirror image smiles. Sugawara, though, was so imbued with smiles that she seemed oblivious to any awkwardness as she stood between them. Hajime served from his side, an easy one for Koji to receive, which he flicked in the air. It was long, but nimbly sidestepping, Sugawara reached and tossed for Saburo.

Gathering himself for the receive rather than a block to keep the rally going, Hajime couldn’t help but be impressed. The toss hadn’t been particularly easy, setting over her shoulder, but she’d managed to keep the speed and also made a decent stab at gauging Saburo’s range, enabling him to spike near the centre line. A better aim and Hajime would have been caught, but he managed to flip it back across the net, waiting for the next move.

Would she toss again to Saburo or use Koji, who’d scampered to the vanguard?

It was Koji. She was being fair, he realised, and although he didn’t have as good a technique as his brother, the springs in his legs ensured he hit out with the flat of his hand as the ball was at its highest.

Again Hajime received, this time hoofing it closer to her, but higher. And he found himself watching her move, the form she took as she prepared to toss.

She didn’t have her brother’s experience.  And there was none of Kageyama’s perfection at placing the ball. But there was something about her form –graceful and fluid as she jumped that caught his attention.

_It’s just the hair,_ he thought, trying to focus.

He scrambled forwards, scooting Saburo’s hit back over the net.

He readied himself. _And now Koji._

They both jumped. Saburo called for the ball, but Hajime, with a smirk, ignored him, intent on the path Koji would follow ( _cross-court, bound to be)_.

The ball dropped down the net, bouncing his side. Dead centre.

“Dump shot!” Sugawara sang.

“Ahhhhh, so cooool!” His brothers yelled, then twisting away from the net, they both ran towards her, arms raised.

Sugawara accepted their high fives, her face as wreathed in smiles as theirs.

“Oi! Not fair!” Hajime shouted, mock growling. “It’s supposed to be a practise for them.”

“Practise for you as well, Iwaizumi-san,” she replied, with a gurgle of a laugh as she waved. “You could get on the team at Karasuno-”

He froze. “Not going to happen,” he muttered. Then bending down to pick up the ball, he schooled his face into something blank, deliberately smoothing his brow to stop the intense scowl. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be keeping you. Your friends will be here soon.”

She didn’t press him, seemed to accept he wanted to change the subject, and instead of prying further she gave a rueful smile. “They’re already late. I’m not even sure they’re going to turn up.”

“Nii-san!” Both his brothers hollered.

Koji was swinging his arms around – Saburo miming a serve, but he knew he couldn’t expect them to be patient for long.  Walking to courtside, he threw the ball back and watched as they both scrambled for it. “Practise your serves and receives, all right? We’re talking.” He turned to her. “Why weren’t they turn up? Also... if you want to practise, why aren’t you using the gyms at Karasuno? Surely they’re open.”

“Oh...” she sighed. “Our captain’s away, and the vice-captain said she had things to do today. There’s a practice planned for Wednesday and Friday. So ... um ... this is extra.”

He didn’t say that wasn’t good enough. He could tell by the way her mouth drooped that she knew, and again he saw the veil of helplessness around her.

Pushing her hair off her face, she huffed out her cheeks. “I know it’s not much. My brother used to go away for Golden Week. There’s a hut and everything where they stay, but ...” She shrugged with her shoulders and hands, not even trying to smile now. “The girls’ team has never been good. We don’t even have the history the boys do. They were ‘fallen crows’. We never even got in the air. It’s just ... I so wanted things to be different. Koushi said Karasuno was bad when he first arrived, but they managed. So ... I thought if I made the effort then maybe it could change.  But no one works. There were three other first years with me, but two already want to drop out. No one cares.”  She shook her head. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.”

But he did, oddly. He’d not had her experiences, having gone to two elite schools where volleyball was treated as important. But, looking at Sugawara, seeing a girl with all the enthusiasm, watching her talent stagnate he suddenly realised what it could have been like for him, if Kitigawa Daiichi and Seijou hadn’t been on his horizons.

“You should speak to someone,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound like a platitude.

“Like who. The Captain’s new and she-”

Whatever the new captain was went straight over Hajime’s head as a sound reached him.

His phone. A message. The tone he’d set for Tooru.

_Fuck._

Really?

“Fuck!”

“Are you okay?” she asked.  He gulped, nodded then sank down to his jacket, lying atop his kitbag.

And he wasn’t mistaken. It _was_ Oikawa’s number flashing up on his screen. It was a message.

**[Hajime!!!!!!!]**

Nearly two months after they’d last been in touch, Tooru had got in contact. He must... Shit there must be something wrong!

**[Oikawa?]**

There was a wait, and for a several long moments, he knew it had been an error, that Oikawa had nothing to say, there was nothing left to say after all, and the simple message was just.

**[yes. Hi there.]**

Oh Kerrist, was he home? His heart lifted; an actual flip in his chest.

**_[Are you home?]_ **

_Say yes say yes say yes._

The answer came that he was still in Tokyo and he swallowed down the disappointment. ( _Of course he would be. Practice is ... everything ...and what is there here? But ... he’s contacted me._ )

He heaved out a breath, reading and rereading each text, aware that Sugawara had walked back onto the court, had corralled his brothers, and was now tossing for each in turn. 

His thoughts jumbled.

_Oh ... he doesn’t know about mum. If the scan goes well, then I could ... I could go and see him. Maybe Dad’ll lend me the car. Or I could get Makki and Mattsun to come with me. Road trip. Could be fun._

**_[I could come to Tokyo]_   **he decided.

The pause was longer this time. _Okay, too soon? C’mon, Tooru. I mean it._

**[What are you doing in Tokyo?]**

He typed something, sent, and then realised rereading Tooru’s message that Takeru was staying with him. Of course, it would be difficult.

**_[If it’s awkward then I won’t stay.]_ **

He started to type again, not caring that he might seem desperate, because he had time. His mum and dad weren’t going to say no – not for this.

**[Don’t bother.]**

Huh? What was ... Oikawa???

**_[What?]_ **

**[Stay with your new friends.]**

A flurry of messages  followed.  And the hope that had flamed inside of him was now dowsed, with not even embers flickering. _What new fucking friends? What the fuck is this? Fucking joke. I make the move. I ... You messaged me first, dickwad!_

**_[Don’t fucking lie.]_ ** he typed at last, then threw the phone in his bag.

His throat was closing. He could feel it dry, feel a rasp, and a lump that no matter how hard he tried to cough it away, was solidifying.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Sugawara ventured.

He hadn’t realised she’d stepped closer, and his eyes met hers, briefly, before he closed them, trying to get a grip on the burning inside of him.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“You look ever so pale,” she continued, her voice low. She crouched down and touched his arm. And he noticed again the pink stripe of her trainers, now a little scuffed with grass.

“It’s fine – honest. Dumb message, that’s all.”  He curled his fingers into fists, anything to stop them trembling.

“Nii-saaaan!”

He looked up, just in time to see the ball heading his way, and with one outstretched hand, he caught it.  _Keep it together, Hajime. What the fuck did you expect? You knew he was still mad._

“They want you back,” Sugawara said.

He blinked. The swirl of anger and frustration starting to abate.

_Fuck you, Oikawa_.

He jogged back on the court, straight to the back line. He didn’t bother twirling the ball, didn’t try to think of himself in the zone, or take a run up. He tossed the ball high, bent his legs to prepare for his jump, and then slammed the ball as hard, as fast, and with every pounding fury he could muster, to the far corner of the court.

“Service Ace!” he shouted, before it had landed.

“Seijou’s Ace!” Sugawara countered. Her eyes were round, and one corner of her mouth had tugged up into a smile. “Wow. You can’t really understand how fast it is on the videos, but that was incredible.”

He nodded an acknowledgment. What had she been saying before? No practise... that was it.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t know if this is any use to you, but you can stay here and practise with us. I don’t mind turning it into a proper session. And ... uh ... we’re here tomorrow, if that helps.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. I really appreciate everyone's support.


	13. Seeking Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author can't resist introducing Harry Potter references
> 
> And who on earth is this foxy character appearing ...

**May**

The library was the busiest Tooru had seen it since he’d started college. He guessed that after the first month of college, the realisation that students did actually have to work had kicked in. His usual table by the window was half-occupied by two girls. He thought about sidling on the end, but as one looked up as he approached, and didn’t look away, he decided surrounding himself with books wasn’t going to ensure his privacy, and dumped his laptop and bag on the table in the corner. It was less well lit, there, and he had to put up with students walking past continually, but by plugging himself into his iPod, he could keep most distractions to a minimum.

He’d not heard from Iwa-chan since the visit to Sky Tree. Tooru hadn’t contacted him, deciding at first to let him stew. But now, having spent a week trying not to check his phone, he recognised a part of him had assumed Hajime would ignore the argument and turn up anyway.

That he hadn’t had faintly surprised Tooru, but he’d still not been able to bring himself to send a message, to make a call, to have any sort of contact whatsoever. For the thought of his friend – his Ace –in a shirt of black, cut him deep, deeper than he’d thought possible.

He told himself every night before he slept that he had to get over this, that in the morning he’d make that call, but then he’d sleep (strange and fretful sleep, hardly resting, dreamless and bleak, no escape)  and come the morning, his mood would blacken, his resolve harden, and he’d ignore the advice from the night before.

As the umpteenth person knocked into his table, jogging his bag, his phone fell out. He reached for it, his fingers flicking automatically to his messages.

Nothing new.

_What had he said again?_

He scrolled through the messages, but there was no nuance to Iwa-chan’s words. It was simple. He said he’d come and see him. That was it. And Tooru remembered the clamminess of his hands, the very real feeling of regret that he wasn’t alone to glory in this golden moment of contact. (Capitulation? Had he been right to feel so pleased at that, albeit briefly? Was that what he wanted?) And then that glory dulling as the truth sunk in. Iwa-chan was already in Tokyo, his visit not so much to build bridges, but to wave from the opposite shore, and wait for the current to cease.

He wrestled with his thoughts, with the conflicting arguments over what was important.

_What does Iwa-chan want? My blessing?_

_I turned him away. I need to call._

_But why can’t he understand how hard –_

But why was it hard? He slammed his head with his hands.

_Why can’t I just have been happy he was here?_

It was as he put the phone away that his finger slipped, scrolling higher to the messages before. Images crashed his mind: the rain on the car window as Hajime had walked away, then the crowded airport and that final desperate message he’d sent – hoping that they had been cut off – before realising the breach was more than a bad connection.

**[Hajime!!!!]**

_What? When did I send that? No... He contacted me._

He suppressed a groan. _Takeru. Of course_. _He wouldn’t have contacted me at all._

Stuffing the phone back in his bag, he sniffed and opened up his laptop. He could feel an ache in his neck, the consequence of having slept awkwardly, and rolled his shoulders to uncrick the muscles.

It was later, maybe an hour in, when he decided to take a break. Not that he was leaving the library, but stretching his legs while he searched for a book, would free up his mind, at least for a while.

Thanking the librarian (not stern at all, but quite young – Hoshiyo’s age, he thought – and earnest as she stopped inputting data on her screen to deal with his query) Tooru slipped down and across the aisles as he headed for the far corner at the back. The smell of older books wafted towards him, musty and with a faint scent of worn leather. Books for less popular subjects, not ones regularly updated. No wonder the librarian had hesitated, having to think before she pointed the way.

He paused to check out one book, fingering the spine and examining the lettering. But just as he was about to continue, he heard a voice ... no two voices ... whispers ... _Is that panting?_

“Are we really doing this?”

“Shhh, or you’ll be heard.”

“So will you.”

“No, because I’m very quiet, as you know.”

“Ahhh. Fuck, that’s -” A groan, muffled and quick, and then a deep breath, followed by a very regretful sigh. “Not here. What if someone comes?”

There was a giggle ( _a male giggle_ ) “Someone will, hopefully both of us if you’ll only...”

“This is _not_ a good idea. We could be discovered.”

“Mmm, exciting isn’t it?”

“No it’s ... ohhh, that’s ... no ... stop. We can’t!”

“Who is going to be in this part of the library? It’s for ... I don’t know ... space cadets, by the look of it.”

“Su- gaaa.”

_Oh... OH!_

With widening eyes and the beginnings of a grin on his face, Tooru, crept closer. He stopped. No, this was ... there was no _way_ he wanted to watch whatever it was Sugawara was doing to Sawamura. The thought that he might be... they might be ... they obviously were...

Nope!

Alarmed, he stepped away, but such was his flustering, that he backed right into the bookcase.

“What was that?” one of them  (probably Sawamura who was clearly the more reluctant of the pair) seethed.

“Nothing,” Sugawara said after a few moments. “Honestly, you’re so jumpy. I’ve barely started.”

“There’s someone ...”

“Suga.” He hissed the word, and then, before Tooru could dodge down another aisle, he heard one swift step and ...

“Oikawa.”

“Hey.”  It was really all he could say faced with a Sawamura with a half tucked in shirt, leaning with excessively feigned nonchalance against the shelves, and one shivering shoulder of what was obviously a not very together Sugawara.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinked, and pressed his lips together to stifle the smirk threatening to emerge. “It is a library, Sawamura-kun. I’m studying. How about you? This is a little far away from the law section, isn’t it?”

“Got ... uh ... lost,” he blustered.

“Really?” Tooru turned away, but he didn’t walk off, instead he fingered another book, half pulling it out, before he looked back over one shoulder to add, “Never had you down as a Restricted Section guy, Sawamura. Must have underestim-”

“RESTRICTED SECTION?” Sugawara yelped, and poked his head under Sawamura’s arm. “Are you a Harry Potter fan, Oikawa-kun?”

As Sawamura raised his eyes to the heavens, Tooru rewarded Sugawara with a wink. “Mmmhmm.” He licked his lips. “I’m also a space cadet.”

 “Space cadet...” Both of them stared at him, and then each other, varying degrees of horror appearing on both their faces.

“You heard that,” Daichi muttered, staring at the ground.

“Didn’t particularly want to but, yes, I did.”

“And ... uh ... are you ... um ... would you ... could you...”

He let Sawamura splutter on, using his most wide eyed and innocent expression, adding a tremulous lip.

“We weren’t ... actually ... like ... it probably sounded like something else was happening.”

“Mmm, true. Like what?”

“I don’t know. What exactly did you hear?” Sawamura said, and swallowing he glanced at Sugawara with a ‘help me out’ look in his eyes.

Enjoying himself hugely, Tooru caught Sugawara just as he pulled his mouth straight. “Oikawa-kun,” he started. “Daichi and I were ... uh ... joking around. It’s really nothing, but ... um ... it might have sounded a little ... strange.”

“Not at all.”

“Really?”

“No, it sounded like a perfectly normal ...” his lips twitched, “ _Assignation_.”

“Assig-what. No .. NO!” Daichi exploded, then taking a step he made a grab for Tooru’s arm. “It’s really not ...”

“Sawamura,” Tooru stared down at him, “if I had a boyfriend as pretty as Sugawara, I wouldn’t be hiding away in the Astronomy section.”

“He’s... We’re ...” Sawamura closed his eyes, then releasing Tooru’s arm, he stepped away and back to Sugawara, and linked their fingers together. “Fine, we’re together.”

It was Sugawara’s reaction that was the most interesting, a faint flush on his cheeks, his mouth forming an ‘o’ and then, after a series of rapid blinks, he gripped Daichi’s hand tighter. “We’re trying to be discreet,” he said. “Daichi’s course is ... uh ... well as far as people are concerned we’re school friends sharing an apartment. So ... um ... if you could-”

“Libraries really aren’t that secret, Sugawara,” Tooru teased. Then he relented. “I’m not a gossip. I didn’t see anything, so ...”

“Thank you,” they both said, their gratitude obvious, complete and heartfelt.

He lowered his voice, leaning towards the pair of them to whisper conspiratorially behind his hand, “Astronomy’s my minor, so I would like to look for my book now, if you wouldn’t mind moving.”

“Uh ... yeah ...” Sawamura shuffled forwards out of his way, Sugawara stepped further back around the corner, the change in directions causing their arms to stretch. They relinquished each other, Sawamura looking rueful, Sugawara with raised eyebrows and a flip of a sigh.

“I should go, anyway,” Sawamura muttered. He grimaced at Suga, then wrinkled up his nose, the effect rendering him far more endearing than Tooru would have thought, and bowed. “Thanks again, Oikawa-san. It’s ... uh ... appreciated.”

“Not a problem, Sawa-chan,” he replied and waited to see the reaction.

There wasn’t one, at least there wasn’t anything approaching anger, or irritation. Sawamura schooled his face into a passive smile, the only sign he’d heard was the mild quirk of one eyebrow, and then he picked up his bag. “See you at practice.”

He heard his footsteps, slow and steady, and watched Sugawara’s expression, faint regret underpinned with mischief as he blew Sawamura a kiss. And a wave of nostalgia hit Tooru, bitterness following in its undertow, and he furled his hand into a fist, digging his nails so hard into his palm, he prayed he’d draw blood.

“Are you okay?”

(Makki had almost discovered them once. Of course, it had been easy to pretend nothing was going on. Tooru would flop himself over Iwa-chan all the time, claiming the droit du seigneiur of friendship beat any other bond.  But after they’d got together, the potency of it all, meant any chance of touch – accidental or otherwise – was a reminder of the time before. It was a new thing, highly charged, when the need to touch was paramount – even for friends. Iwa-chan had still been on crutches, but a series of exercises to strengthen his knee had led to Tooru insisting on supervising his regime. _We were in the gym, lying on a crash mat. My hand on his uninjured leg, smoothing higher._

“Get off me, Tooru. I can’t concentrate if you... ahh.”

“Have to ensure you don’t get bored, Iwa-chan _.”)_

“Oikawa-san?”

“Hmm?” Tooru shook himself.

“Did we embarrass you? Sorry.”

“There’s nothing ... uh ... I was thinking about something else. There’s no need to worry. I really won’t tell anyone what I saw, or didn’t see,” he said, and flicked his hair with his fingers.

“I’m not worried, but ... um ... would you like coffee?”

“Is this a bribe, Sugawara?” he replied.

“Hmm, more like a thank you for the Sky Tree ticket.” He picked up his bag, hitching it over his shoulder. “Or do you fancy hitting the campus gym?”

Coffee would mean talking. Refusing both would mean he could settle back and close himself off from these entreaties of friendship. It wasn’t as if he needed anything from Sugawara.

But just then he smiled, and the emollient quality he’d seen when Sugawara had met Takeru shone from him even in this darker corner of the library. Perhaps it would be fun. And if they were working out, then he wouldn’t have to talk about anything personal. Or talk about anything at all.

“I don’t have my kit,” Tooru decided, “but give me half an hour and I’ll meet you there, Sugawara.”

“It’s Suga,” he said. “Please, Sugawara makes me think I’m back in school and facing the Dean.”

“Can’t imagine you were ever in trouble,” he paused, adding with a smile, “Suga.”

Fluffing up his hair at the back, he stuck his tongue between his teeth. “Nothing I couldn’t talk my way out of, Oikawa-san.”

***

Suga was stuffing his bag into a locker when Tooru turned up at the gym. He’d already changed, stripping down to black shorts, white tee, and also sporting a bandage around his thigh.

“Still got a problem?” Tooru enquired, remembering Suga had skipped a few practises before Golden Week.

“Small niggle. As long as I don’t push it, I’m fine. Training isn’t just a step up, but a whole staircase here, don’t you think?”

“One way of putting it,” Tooru replied.

“You revel in it, don’t you?”

“And you don’t?”

Slamming the locker door, Suga joined Tooru by the gym entrance. “I love volleyball. I love the game, and the excitement of matches, even if I did come close to freezing at times, but ... I know my limits.”

“Limits?”

“Not a word I expect you know the meaning of,” Suga said. He started to walk, water bottle in hand, towards the row of exercise bikes. “I usually start there.”

“I don’t think you should place limits on yourself before you’ve discovered your full potential, that’s all,” Tooru said. He joined Suga, taking a bike next to him, setting the pace slow to start.

Although his frame was spare, Suga proved quite capable of keeping up with Tooru. He didn’t chatter, but his attention flickered around the room, occasionally glancing at Tooru, or at his speedometer. When Tooru switched to a higher gear, he changed, too, his expression, becoming far more focused as he continued to pedal. And although he slowed earlier, resting his arms on the bars as he huffed out his breath, he kept his pace steady.

“I’ve not seen you much in here,” Suga said at last.  “Some of us come along after practice.”

“I’ve not bothered before,” Tooru replied, adding, “There’s a gym where I live, so I tend to go straight home and use that.”

“Wow, that’s some fancy student accommodation.”

He shook his head. “It’s my dad’s apartment. The gym’s really small, and the equipment is old – not nearly as good as this - but barely anyone uses it, so I might as well.”

“Oh ... uh ... sorry, I didn’t know. Are your parents ... uh ...”

“Hmm?” He sat back on the bike, straightening his back as he wondered about the apology. “Oh ... no, it’s his base for when he’s working in Tokyo. It’s close to the university, so –” He shrugged.

“Well, if you do fancy a change, then feel free to come with us. Sometimes we stop off after and grab pork buns.”  He smiled at something and slowed his pace further. “We’re trying out all the places on our route home. Kuroo always finds the best ones.”

“You like sharing with him, do you? And Yaku-san, too?”

“Well, Kuroo’s intent on being a party animal. Morisuke and he yell at each other a lot. Bokuto drops in and raids our fridge, but ... uh ...” He grinned widely. “It’s great. I love Tokyo.”

“And you and Sawamura?”

His eyes twinkled. “Mmm, that’s great, too, even if we do have to keep it quiet.” Leaning forwards, he gripped the bars with his hands, then started to pedal faster. His face pinked with the new exertion, but for all that, he was barely breaking a sweat.

It was twenty minutes later when he came to a halt, perspiration beading on his brow, Suga massaged his thigh as he slid off the bike.

“Are you okay?” Tooru asked, continuing to pedal.

He removed his hand. “Force of habit, more than anything. I might try the rowing machine next”

“You shouldn’t push it.”

“I know. I’m not,” Suga replied. He crouched down and took a glug from his water bottle.  “Working alongside you makes me feel very unfit. You must do this a lot.”

_Lack of a social life,_ he thought, finally coming to a halt. “I like the routine,” he said instead. “And ... well ... I’m here to make the team.”

Suga didn’t contradict him, didn’t assure him either that he was bound to. He didn’t plead his own case, or attempt deprecating his own skills.  He swallowed some more water, tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, and then asked, “What’s it like to be so certain?”

“Of my ability?”

“No. I mean certain of your goal. You’re very _driven_ , Oikawa-san.”

“Are you saying you’re-”

“Hey! Look who’s here!” A voice boomed towards them, jerking Oikawa’s attention away from Suga, who’d started to laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“Hey, Bokuto-kun,” Suga called, holding his hand in the air. “How are you today?”

Bokuto Koutarou swaggered across to them. Towel around his shoulders, his hair dripping and even more askew than usual, he was red in the face, but beaming –lit from within.

And not alone.

“Pretty good. Been burning up the ks on the jogging machine. Before that we did some weights.” He flexed his bicep. “What did we do first?” he asked his companion – a shorter boy, with dark blond hair flopping over his narrow eyes and a mouth that looked as if it snapped out smart remarks on instinct.

“Bench press, Koutarou,” he said and smiled.

He was like a fox. Lean and sleek, hungry and with claws.  “I’m guessing Bokuto-kun’s going to forget the niceties of introduction, and I already know Suga, but I’m Konoha Akinori.”

He inclined his head. “Oikawa Tooru. School friend?” Tooru guessed, gesturing to his kit bag, black and white, with an owl logo on the side.

“Friend’s pushing it,” he said, with a side-glance at Bokuto and struggle to straighten his face.  “We played together.”

Whipping his head round, Bokuto grabbed Konoha, flinging his arm wide to hold him in a headlock. “Hey, hey, ‘course we were friends. We was all friends. Don’t you listen to him here, Oikawa-san. We’re buddies. Real close.”

“Yeah, yeah, the closest,” Konoha wheezed, as he attempted to pull away.

Bokuto ruffled his hair, then in the next moment, relinquished him, bounding over to where Suga was still sitting. “What’s up, Suga? Where’s Sawamura?”

“Lectures,” Suga supplied. He got to his feet, wiped his hand across his brow, and then half bowed to Konoha. “You haven’t gone back yet, then?”

Shaking his head, Konoha leant against Tooru’s exercise bike. He hid a yawn behind his hand, and grimaced. “Oba-san’s ill and my mum wanted me to stick around a little longer.”

“You’re not at university in Tokyo?” Tooru asked.

“Kyoto,” he answered. “I’m studying Environmental Science.”

“Kyoto,” Tooru repeated slowly. His mind skeltering into overdrive, he got off the bike and flashed him a smile. “And are you still playing volleyball?”

“I go to practice. Whether I’ll be picked or not is another matter.” Flashing a sly glance at Bokuto, he grinned at Suga. “That guy from your neck of the woods is there. Boy, he’s made an impression. Superb Ace.”

“Who?” Suga frowned as Bokuto scowled.

“He means Ushiwaka,” Tooru said. “I’d heard he went there.”

“You know him?  Hell, ‘course you do, everyone’s heard of him. He’s amazing. _So_ focused.”

“Didn’t get to Spring High,” Bokuto grumbled.

“Doesn’t go into meltdowns mid-match, either, Ace,” Konoha teased. Reaching up he ruffled Bokuto’s hair, then turned to face Tooru. “You’re working together, right? Koutarou says you’re a Setter. Well, his actual words were ‘Fuckin’ Genius Setter’.”

“Not a genius,” Tooru corrected.

He shrugged slightly, then hitched his bag further up his arm. “Whatever. Good luck with this guy!”

“Hey, hey! I got ya in here, and you insult me!”

“Payback for all those serves slammed into my head,” Konoha retorted. And then he seemed to relent, and instead of the vixen smile, he softened his expression, now looking fond. “It’s not the same without you, Koutarou. Ushijima-san is ... uh ... intense. Never did work out how you beat him, Suga-kun.”

“Teamwork,” Suga replied, then snorted. “And a lot of prayers.”

“Whatever it is, Karasuno are on a roll,” Konoha continued. “I mean, I thought losing you guys would have affected them, the same way it has us and Nekoma, but ... oh ... no. You got some ringers playing or something?”

_Ringers._

“Nothing like that.”

“But I don’t remember _that_ guy from Tokyo. And he wasn’t a first year.”

He ‘d heard enough. Suga’s constant smile, Konoha’s attempts to needle him not making the slightest impression except to invoke a gurgling laugh, Tooru bent down, snatched up his towel and water bottle.

“I’m off,” he said, aware but not caring in the slightest that he sounded blunt. “See you at practise. Nice to meet you Konoha-san, but I’ll leave you to reminisce.”

“Oikawa!” Suga’s voice followed him. Incredulous, and maybe a touch of concern. He walked faster, pretending he’d not heard, hoping none of them would pursue him. He’d go home, finish that damn essay, and  turn up to practise at the last minute.

“Oikawa...” He was closer, and then he felt a tug on his arm. He turned. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

Suga’s brow creased, one faint line appearing in the middle of his forehead. “Did we ... uh ... sorry, was it something I said?”

_Stop with the concern. Stop. Stop!_

“We excluded you from the conversation,” Suga continued, looking flustered, he twisted his fingers into the hem of his shirt. “Sorry.”

_Stop apologising,_ he thought, frustration building, a slow roiling boil inside his gut, the dull ache returning.

“Reminiscing,” Tooru said at last. “I told you in Sky Tree that I don’t go in for it.” He tried a smile. It felt fake, but Suga returned it, so maybe Tooru was a better actor than he thought.

Wiping his face on the towel, he took another step back, twisting on his foot. “Catch you later, maybe, Sugawara. Don’t over train, though.”

“Oikawa ...” Suga sighed. “Okay, I get it. We’re a reminder and I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?”

“A reminder of high school. It’s just ... I seem to take one step forwards with you, and then, it’s like we’re back at the beginning... or worse, and there’s more distance. Which, well, if that’s what you want, then that’s obviously your prerogative, but ... uh ...” Suga stopped smiling, pressing his lips together. “I’m talking too much.”

“Don’t-” Tooru took a deep breath, momentarily quelling the disquiet roaring around his head. “It’s not high school, and it’s not about nationals,” he muttered, not quite lying. _Move on._ “Why are you here, Suga? I mean, here with me right now. Why did you follow me?”

He tilted his head to one side, studying Tooru with a half smile. “If we hadn’t met before, say none of this stuff with High School had happened, don’t you think we’d get on?” Then he crinkled his eyes. “And okay, I admit it. I have this ulterior motive. Please, I’m desperate for another Harry Potter fan. Daichi, bless him, does his best, but he prefers the films.”

Laughing, Tooru mock-shuddered, feeling light as if he were standing in sunshine. “Can’t have that, Suga-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll sort out a proper schedule for this. It's supposed to be Sundays and Wednesdays, but appears to be more random than Hinata's serves.


	14. Adjusting Sails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime makes a decision, veering off his normal path ... a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from this quote by Jimmy Dean
> 
> 'I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.'

“You’ve made it back by the skin of your teeth!” Hajime’s mum called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Sorry, we were on a roll.”

As Koji pulled off his shoes, not bothering to untie his laces, Saburo pressed down on the back of one with his toes, then wriggled out, in his haste to dash to the table. While Hajime straightened the mess they’d left, and dumped his kitbag in the corner, his dad appeared from the lounge.

“Good day?” he asked.

“Yeah, not bad,” Hajime said, hanging up his hoodie. “I tried to wear them out.”

“You’ll be pleased to get back to school, won’t you?” his dad teased.

He shrugged. “They’re not bad company. And Makki was there, too. He kept them in stitches. Whoa, watch it!” He swerved out the way as Koji rushed to the toilet.

“You saw Hanamaki-san, then, Koji?” his dad said, tugging on his sleeve to slow him down when he reappeared.

He nodded. “And Sugawara-san was there.”

His dad raised his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Girl from Karasuno,” Hajime mumbled. “Plays volleyball. I sort of know her brother.”

“And she just happened to turn up, did she?”

Hearing his mum’s voice, Hajime closed his eyes and shook his head irritably. “She’s been there all week. Girls’ team doesn’t have many practises, so I said she could join us. Koji and Sab liked her, so I didn’t think there was a problem, and ... uh ...why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” his mum said.

“You’re laughing. Have I got mud on my face or something?”

“No, you’re being very defensive, that’s all.”

His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Your mother thinks you have a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?  No ... no, she’s not ... she’s a _first_ year. It’s just volleyball!”

“If you say so,” she replied airily. “Come and sit down, we have news.”

_It had to be a good thing,_ he thought. His mum was smiling, his father’s touch was light and the pair of them flashed glances to each other across the table.

“As you know,” his mum began, serving rice in bowls before them. “You’re going to have a brother or a sister.”

“Brother!” Koji and Saburo yelled immediately.

“Well, we don’t know yet,” their dad replied with a grin.  He helped himself to some Agedashi tofu. “Mmm, this is good.”

_My favourite._   But then, as his mum uncovered more dishes, he saw Koji’s favourite, and then Saburo’s. It was a celebration ... or a bribe.

“It _is_ just the one, right?” Hajime asked, trying to keep it light. His parents had returned from the scan three days before, laughingly relieved at the presence of a single baby. One already sucking its thumb (or so they said when they showed Hajime the photograph, although to him it just looked like a swirling mass of black and white – like one of Oikawa’s black hole photographs – he’d thought at the time before angrily closing down that thought.)

“Yes, yes,” his mum laughed, and cuffed him around the ear. “However ...” she flicked her attention to his dad.

He coughed and picked up the story. “However, this doesn’t alter the fact that there will be a new Iwaizumi appearing in October and this place is going to be very cramped.”

“Babies are little.”

His dad’s lips twitched. “True, Koji-chan, babies are very little and don’t take up much room. But their paraphernalia-”

“Huh?”

“Stuff,” Hajime supplied. “Babies have a lot of equipment, like prams and things.”

He picked up his chopsticks, spearing some tofu into his mouth. He’d been eight when the twins had been born. Shifted from the bigger bedroom to the smaller one his mum used to use for sewing, he’d tried not to feel resentful. But he remembered their tiny hallway becoming tinier when the twin pram appeared, and the train set, with its elaborate track that he’d laid out had had to be moved and packed away.

“While you were out today,” his mum said. “Your dad and I went to look at new apartments.”

“We’re moving?” Koji’s face fell, his lower lip trembling. “But I like it here.”

“Where to?” Saburo asked, far more prosaic, but still his brow had creased into a scowl.

“We haven’t quite decided yet, and it won’t be far, so you’ll still be close to school. And the park,” his mum replied. Placing her fingers under Koji’s chin, she tilted his face up. “We need somewhere bigger, Koji-chan. The baby will grow.”

 

It was later, when the twins were finishing off homework they’d forgotten about, and his mum was resting with her feet up, that Hajime’s dad spoke. They were washing the dishes, Hajime drying and putting back in the cupboards as his dad filled the sink with soapy suds, and the short cough immediately alerted him to the almost certain knowledge that his dad had something else to tell.

“You were quiet over dinner,” he began. “Are you unhappy that we’re moving?”

He considered the question, considered the very real fact that this was the place he’d lived in for nearly nineteen years of his life and would soon be saying goodbye to. _Am I?_

“I don’t mind,” he said hesitantly. “I mean ... it’s not as if I’ll be here much ... if things go to plan.” He swallowed. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“You wouldn’t have to move if I wasn’t _here_ , would you?”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

His dad stopped sloshing water and put down the scourer. The bubbles were popping, subsumed by the film of grease from the plates, and he turned on the tap to rinse the last plate before handing it over.

“You may be heading for university, but you always have a home with us,” he said, and touched him on the shoulder. “We’re looking earlier than perhaps we would have done if you’d been away, but this ... none of this is your fault.”  He smiled, a touch ruefully. “If anything we should be apologising to you.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t look so confused.” Pulling the plug out of the sink, then tearing off the yellow latex gloves, his dad sighed. “If it wasn’t for this baby, then you could have stayed at Aobajousai, or attempted cram college. But as it is, we need the money.”

Ah. His knuckles were white, but with remarkable clarity of mind, he managed to put the plate away without breaking it.

“You’d have been happier there, I think.”

“Maybe,” he said, surprised the words were able to escape past the lump in his throat. Then he sniffed. “I’m not unhappy, Dad. I kind of brought this on myself, and ... if I’d stayed at Seijou, I’d have been frustrated about not playing. I’m fine. Honest.”

There was a silence. His dad stared unblinking, and then with deliberation, led him towards the table, where the pair of them sat. “You’re a good kid, you know that?” he said, ruffling Hajime’s hair. “And I know how hard this has all been on you, but please, don’t ever reproach yourself for staying on to play. It was an important part of your life, Hajime.” He paused, making sure Hajime was looking at him before he continued. “And if you still want it to be important, then perhaps it should be.”

 

***

He heard the ball bounce first. And the squeak of trainers as they scuffed on the floor. It was that rather than the yells that forced him forwards, that and the wave of longing to be back _to be back to be back._ And then he heard the shout, a yell of triumph as a point was scored, the shriek of a point lost, and the dual exhortations of ‘we’ll get the next one’ and ‘We’ll stop you next time.’

_Maybe I don’t belong here_ , his thoughts turning to turquoise and white, but his hesitation was momentary. _But why should that stop me?_

“Nice serve, Sugawara-kun. You’ve clearly been practising.”

Her voice, high and breathless, happy with the praise and the exertion of training, lilted towards him.  “I had some help over Golden Week. Not just serves. I hope my receives are better, too, Misa-san!”

The rap of his knuckles on the open door didn’t catch their attention immediately, so he knocked harder waiting for their attention before he walked over their threshold.

“You again!” It was the Captain, Misa-san, Sugawara had called her. He met her eyes, then bowed respectfully.

As she strode towards him, her eyes narrow and hair scraped high in a ponytail adding to the austerity of her appearance, he almost backed away, suddenly convinced this was a dumb idea. But the gasp coming from Sugawara stopped his escape, and he stood firm.

“I apologise for disturbing you,” he began.

“Then don’t!” she replied, stepping closer.

He splayed out his hands in front of him and tried a smile. It unnerved her, but she stopped approaching instead standing there her hands on her hips.

“I have a ... proposition for you,” he said, then checked himself, adding in a hurry. “For the team, I mean.”

“Which is?”

_Okay, here goes._   He coughed _. Or shall I just leave? Do I need this hassle?_

“Look, this is our lunch hour and we have a tournament coming up, so if you could get on with it, then-”

“Training,” he interrupted and swallowed hard. “You don’t have a coach.”

“Very observant,” she sniped. “I’m the coach. And captain. _We’re_ not deemed important for our adviser to even bother looking.”

He started to grin, pleased at the fire in her voice. “That pisses you off, doesn’t it?”

“Look, I don’t _know_ why you’re here, but if it’s to state the bloody obvious, then could you hurry up and then leave.”

He straightened his face, and then dropped his bag to the floor. His kit bag. She blinked but said nothing. “Sorry, I should have explained. And I should introduce myself properly. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime. I played volleyball for Aobajousai High. I was Vice Captain, Wing Spiker and ... Ace.”

Her expression didn’t change, but the other girls had moved closer, and he heard their indistinguishable whispers, and saw their widened eyes.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said – grudgingly. “What are you after? A fan club?”

The laugh escaped from him before he could stop it. Appreciation of the barb and a lingering bitterness. _Fanclubs weren’t my thing._

“You want a coach. I want something to do,” he said plainly. “Afternoons might be an issue, but mornings and lunchtime – I’m all yours.”

Her hands dropped from her hips and her eyes flickered around the room, finally settling on the dark haired girl he’d met before. The one with the hairslides, which today were brightly coloured.  “What do you think, Aimi?”

She stepped up to him, chewing her lip as she took him in. “Does Mitsuhina-senpai know about this?”

“Who?”

“Our faculty adviser.” Misa rolled her eyes. “Clearly not.”

“Wanted to run it past you first,” he said.

“Why us? If you’re so good, then why aren’t you training with the boys’ team?” came another voice, this time from a short girl, her black hair held back in two bunches. She had bruises on her knees and elbows, injuries that belied her spindly limbs, and a belligerent slant to her mouth. “Ennoshita-san’s not going to turn someone away with your experience.”

 “Libero, right?”  She scowled but nodded. “I had an injury,” he said, his gaze encompassing them all. “I’ve not played a match or trained properly for seven months. And I think the boys’ team’s gonna be okay without me. You lot, however...”

“Gonna get us to Nationals?” Misa-san mocked.

“With that attitude, no. But how about I get you to a stage where you’re at least not humiliated in the first round like you were at Prefecturals.”

That hit home. He felt the collective hurt from them all. Well, not the first years. Sugawara winced, but it was pain by proxy and not the bitter sting of having been utterly outplayed. He’d checked the scores, looked up the tournament on his last day of Golden Week, trying to dig up what he could on this most desperate of teams. And he wasn’t even sure why except that Sugawara’s near obsession, her desperation to improve and the unhappiness haunting her eyes reminded him so clearly of another time and another kid’s obsession, that he wanted this chance to try again.

“You don’t understand at all,” Misa-san snapped.

“I understand your Captain left last March. That you stepped in when no one else would.”

“And?”

“And that’s impressive. Shows me you want to fight, or else you’d have left, too.” He shrugged. “Plus I overheard that training session. You’re harsh, so it doesn’t sound like you’ve given up to me.”

Taking a breath, he picked up a ball from the floor and bounced it once. “Look, I’m on the level. I can read the game and I’ve got a good eye.  You need someone, Misa-san, so you can get out there and play. I’m not going to make dumb promises. You’re not in remotely the same league as Queens, and you’re not dark horses, or flightless crows, either. But ... you gotta start somewhere, haven’t you?”

And then he caught Sugawara’s eye. She was smiling, nervously it was true, but it was still a smile, one that showed her teeth and crinkled the sides of her eyes. “Misa-san,” she piped up.

Wearily Misa turned her head. “Sugawara, I suppose you’re about to tell me this is who you were practising with over the holiday.”

“Uh ... yes. And one of the other Aobajousai players.”

“Oikawa-san?” At least three girls yelped his name. Inevitable, Hajime supposed, but he kept his head down, frowning as he pretended to inspect the ball.

“N-no. His name was Hanamaki and he’s a Wing Spiker.” She giggled. “He was funny.”

Making a mental note to never tell Makki that someone found him amusing, Hajime threw the ball high in the air, catching one handed when it fell. “What do you say, Captain-san?  Wanna give me a go?”

“One session,” she said. “And if we like it, then you have to clear it with our adviser. If you can find her.”

“Deal.” He pulled down the zipper of his training top, throwing it to the side. “Okay, as you’re warmed up, how about you show me what you can do in a ...” he counted quickly. “Five on five. Captain-san, can you divide up the teams?” He pointed to the Libero. “Keep this one on the opposite side to your Ace, and split your Setters.”

“We only have one,” Misa replied, clicking her tongue. “Hori’s quit ... I think.”

He kept his face straight, not moving a muscle as he took in this information. One Setter. A first year. And yes, she had potential, but very little experience.

“Fine. Sugawara-kun go on the same team as the Ace. I’ll watch from the sides.”

He was about ten minutes in, trying not to let any expression flit across his face as he watched, but a series of misses, the stop and start nature as serves were fluffed, or a receive was dropped was really giving him no idea about their abilities except they were poor.  He bit his thumb nail, hoping it would look as if he were concentrating hard, but the eyes of the Captain were on him.

“Come on!” yelled Misa, standing tall and punching the air. “Let’s show Iwaizumi-san we can at least string a rally together!”

He caught the next erratic pass, bringing it to his chest, the action quelling them. “Captain, serve, okay. You –” He pointed to the hairslides girl. “Swap sides and receive it.  Get it to the Setter.”

“That simple, huh? Opponents tend to target the weaker players,” the Libero muttered.

“Yup, they do. But at the moment -” He stopped himself from saying any opponent would be hard pressed choosing a weakest because they were all shite. “I want to see what will happen when you start playing rather than point scoring.” He flashed them a grin. Some of them smiled back weakly, although Sugawara’s smile was wide. “Relax, will you. It’s actually not a competition.”

They did relax, whether it was his words, or the Misa’s acceptance as she bounced the ball on the floor, he didn’t know, but after she’d served – a slow but perfect ball, curving across the net – they seemed to collectively sigh with relief. And although the receive was easy, it was returned with expertise to the Setter, so finally he saw the beginnings of a play.  

When the ball was slow, when they weren’t in a game, but playing set pieces, they had some talent. Sugawara tossed the ball high, a little away from the net, to her right. Their Ace leapt, raising her hand and with her palm plum in the centre of the ball, spiked it past two blockers and down to the centre of the court. With a decent enough turn of speed, the Libero swooped, her right hand inveigling under the ball, shooting it back up to safety, towards the Captain, who with a slight gasp hefted it over the net. Hairslides-kun-Aimi again pulled off the receive, but her aim was less sure, and Sugawara had to stretch for the toss. She managed, but this time her toss was not as accurate, and she overshot past their Ace and towards a shorter girl – one Hajime hadn’t paid much attention to before. He honed in on her, wondering what she’d do, because hell knew the toss was difficult, and she was going to have to have Hinata-like springs in her legs to make an impression.

She didn’t have springs. Her jump was mediocre, although he could see the effort expended, there wasn’t much to show for it as she batted the ball wildly with her hand. He saw the frustration on her face, the wince as the ball didn’t do what she’d intended. And then that grimace turning to shock and finally glee as the ball teetered on the rim of the net, dropping down onto the opposite side of the court.

“All RIGHT!” the Ace yelled, and rounding on her teammate, she high fived her.

It was luck, pure fluke, but Hajime wasn’t about to ruin her moment. He nodded their way, and then indicated to Sugawara to serve. But as she bent down to collect the ball, a rumble of voices and a thud of footsteps sounded behind him.

“Hey girls, how ya doing?” yelled someone. “Gonna stop and watch us instead?”

Whipping round, Hajime held up his had to hush the newcomers, only to find himself confronted with some kind of giant – taller that Mattsun, possibly taller than the Iron Wall.  _Terrific._ He girded his loins, and fixed his most ferocious scowl – his fuck off face as Oikawa used to call it – in place.

“This is a practice. If you can’t keep quiet, then leave.”

“Who are you?” laughed the giant.

“Not really any of your business,” Hajime retorted. “This is the girl’s gym and they’re in the middle of practising, so –”

The giant smirked. “Not quite.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s only half the girls’ gym,” he explained, leaning right over Hajime, who refused to step back, but stared right up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Yuhiko Ino,” Giant replied. “Captain of the basketball team. We share this gym, so now I’d like to know who you are?”

_Oh, fucking perfect! They don’t even have their own gym._ Although maybe that explained why Misa had been so jumpy around him when she’d thought he was sneaking pics. Certainly some of the Basketball team members’ eyes were on stalks as they gawped at the girls. And he could see several of the girls pulling down their shirts, desperate not to make eye contact.

“I’m the coach,” he said bluntly.

Ino laughed, so loud it echoed across the gym, quelling everyone else. “Getting a coach in ain’t gonna save you, Missan!”

“And shouting loud, turning up late to cause maximum disturbance isn’t going to work either, dickhead!” she yelled back. “Sugawara-kun, good serve, okay!”

As she took to the backline, spinning the ball between her hands, the yells from the basketball members increased. Sugawara threw the ball high, but as she stretched and her shirt untucked from her shorts, wolf-whistles rent the air. She fumbled the serve, blushingly apologetic.

“Don’t mind,” Misa called out. “Try again.” Then she glanced at Hajime, daring him to disagree. He nodded back, then turned his head slightly, catching sight of the basketball players, still ogling the girls.

“Suggest you go and practise, Ino- _chan_ ,” he murmured. “Not going to win many games if your team members are so easily led by their dicks.”

“Who are you?” Ino demanded, but his tone was conciliatory, unsure whether speaking to a peer or senpai.

“Their coach. I told you. Now piss off and let them get on before I get angry.”

“Angry...” Ino laughed again, softer this time and far more menacing. “What can you do?”

“I’ve taken on bigger guys than you,” Hajime replied, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Specially ones whose brains were in their arses.”

 

***

**[It’s been a month and you’ve got into your first fight. I’m proud of you.]**

Hajime snorted at Mattsun’s message. **_[Didn’t even throw a punch. I ducked and he fell over. You beanpoles are so weak.]_**

**[Ha ha ha – so what next?]**

**_[No idea. He’s a dick. Whole team are dicks. Fucking basketball –I never liked it.]_ **

**[Want 2 meet up?]**

Hajime sighed, and shook his head at the screen. **_[I’ve got homework. I promised Mum I wouldn’t slack off this year, so better not.]_**

**[And coaching a girls’ team isn’t slacking off then?]**

**_[short term and it’ll look good on my resume]_ ** he replied, the argument ready in his brain. **_[and mum doesn’t know anything about it, so keep it to yourself, alright?]_**

**[Sure.  Can you get out at w/e? Come over and watch dvds?]**

**_[Probably.]_ **

**[Cool. See you then.]**

 

Chuckling, Hajime shoved his phone back in his pocket. The altercation with Ino might have been minor, a small scuffle, and not the punch up, Matsukawa fondly imagined, but it had enlivened him. Not that he was spoiling for a fight, but the challenge in Ino’s eyes had been one he’d relished. And the girls’ practise after the boys had sloped away to their half of the gym, had improved vastly once they realised he was the only one assessing them. Not that Misa had been grateful. Rolling her eyes and muttering something about the overpowering scent of testosterone, she’d corralled both teams into concentration. The session had ended well, all the girls looking invigorated rather than defeated.

“We’ll have a vote on it,” Misa had said, when Hajime had asked if they’d like him to return. “I will let you know. Class Five, right?”

He’d nodded, smiled slightly at Sugawara, then left the gym, attacking his lunch on the way back to class.  Ennoshita had remarked that he seemed happy. He’d scowled back, but ... yeah ... he maybe he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... 
> 
> Has he made the right decision?


	15. Ruffling Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru invites someone round for breakfast, and another familiar face appears. :D

The blossom had all but dropped now, the petals raked away, candy pink turned to green. As he jogged, the early morning air already warm around him, Tooru flicked his attention to the timer on his wrist. He upped his pace. His legs increasing their stride pattern, not yet feeling the burn, he gloried in the realisation that only a month ago, the weary ache in his legs would have had him turning for home.

He hadn’t slept well, waking from a dream he could barely remember, except he’d been screaming and no one had heard. So, pulling on his joggers and trainers, and snatching up his keys, he’d fled the apartment to embrace Tokyo before the crowds made it unbearable, and the traffic fumes made it impossible to breathe.

He ran past the ducks, calling out to Loud-Duck, who appeared to be ignoring him as he waddled into the lake. Then he sped up, heading straight for the trees, the first drips of sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

His phone beeped. Recognising the tone, he didn’t immediately stop to check, but carried on pounding out his favoured path as he weaved between each tree.

With burning shins, he steeled himself, and huffed out a breath. _One more circuit. One more and then I’ll go back._

The phone beeped again and he clicked his tongue. _I told you where I was going._

“YO!  Oikawaaaaaaaaa!”

He slowed a little, turning sideways as soon as he heard the cry and recognised the voice. Although he’d developed a preference for running alone, he wasn’t about to pretend he’d not heard the salutation, and raised his hand.

“Bokuto- chan!”

“You running, then?”

“Looks like it,” he replied, careful not to roll his eyes. “And you?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda nice here this time o’ day, ain’t it?” Bokuto said, jogging alongside.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” Tooru replied. “I’m here most mornings.”

“Gah – I’m not usually up so early. Not since starting college, anyways.”

_But you are today_. He stifled his irritation when Bokuto kept up the chatter, enthusiasm pouring out of him, as he twisted his head from side to side.

“I used t’ get up real early at High School. Morning runs before breakfast.”  Pant pant. “Kinda got me in the mood and warmed up for practice.”

“So why have you slacked off now?” Tooru asked, feeling he was supposed to reply. “Too many late nights?”  He frowned. “We have matches coming up.”

“Uh-huh, I know.” Bokuto’s lips tightened and he screwed up his face as he picked up his pace. “Maybe I should get myself some earplugs.”

“What?”

“You don’t live in halls, right?”

“No... Ah ... noisy?”

“Guys being guys. Kinda thought it’d be fun.”

“But it’s not?”

Bokuto shrugged. “They drink a lot. Not my thing, ya know.”

_No ... I didn’t know._ He perused Bokuto, a sideways glance, noting again the well-muscled arms and legs – the trademark of an Ace. What he had known before he got to college was that Bokuto Koutarou was euphemistically called ‘a personality’. His ebbs and flows in a match were well documented, his temperament causing almost more trepidation for his team rather than his opponents. Powerful, though, and someone to be feared. Meeting him, Tooru’s perception had shifted to the extent that although he found his mood swings frustrating, he’d been able to accommodate him. On court, he never failed to be impressed and excited with this Ace. Off court, Bokuto - he told himself – was loud and an idiot. Not someone he _had_ to associate with, and one that he shoved to the back of his mind when not involved with the game.

But he was still there, poking his animated face into Tooru’s subconscious far too frequently. Usually he brushed him away, but with Bokuto jogging alongside him, he couldn’t do that.

Besides, he could be wrong. Perhaps Bokuto wasn’t the idiot he’d first thought.

 “Not my thing either,” he said, and smiled. “Do you want to do another circuit? I could really do with the competition.”

 

It was not like training with Sugawara. Bokuto, he already knew, was deadly serious about volleyball, and this run only crystallised that fact. As they passed the ducks on the lake for a second time, steady towards the cherry trees, the ache in Tooru’s legs melded into a burn across his thighs. He was pushing it now, but alongside, Bokuto was fresh, no longer talking, eyes focused on the route.

“Sprint finish to the trees?” Tooru suggested, trying not to gasp, but he could feel his heart hammering and the air in his lungs threatening to erupt.

Bokuto nodded. Then with a sly grin, he set off. Needing no prompting, Tooru picked up the pace. His ankles protested. His knees stabbed at him, but none of this mattered. He could do this. He was gaining ground, matching Bokuto step for step. The blood was roaring in his ears, drowning out the birdsong, the morning traffic in the distance, but not Bokuto’s cries as he sped onwards.

_Shit, he’s fast._  And then he started to laugh. _He’s fast. Fantastic!_

Tooru did not collapse at the finish line. He ran for all he was worth, then came to a halt next to where Bokuto stood, hands on hips. Crouching down, letting his breath return, Tooru stared up at the other boy and grinned at him. “How long had you been running before you met me?”

“Uh, I ran from college, so ... uh ...” He squinted at the sky. “I dunno. I didn’t see what time I left, and I don’t have a watch. I kinda just came for a run, ‘cause I was awake for once.”

His breath still not back to normal, Tooru ignored the beep of his phone, but he straightened up and then took a swig from his water bottle.

“Ain’t you gonna get that?” Bokuto asked. “Could be important, ‘specially this early.”

“It’s my father,” Tooru replied. “He’s in Tokyo, before he flies off somewhere.”  With a groan, he fished his phone out of the pocket, skimming through the messages, three to be precise, wanting to know where Tooru was. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I left you a note.” He tapped out a reply, sending it, then taking a deeper breath, he faced Bokuto. “He’s clearly not been in the kitchen. Parents, huh?”

“Worried about ya? That’s kinda nice.”

“No, it was more – _‘Have you been home at all? Did you stay the night somewhere else?’_ ,” Tooru snapped, feeling the irritation of family ties again. “Sometimes I regret not taking a room in halls. I thought I’d have more freedom this way.”

Bokuto puffed out his cheeks as he leaned against a tree. “I figured being on campus would be better, what with bein’ close to the gym and getting food provided.”

“There’s a ‘but’?” queried Tooru.

“Nah, it’s cool,” he replied as his stomach gave an enormous rumble. “Gah, I’m starving now. Might have t’ grab something on my way back.”

Feeling his phone vibrate again in his hand, Tooru contemplated throwing it away, but then he smirked. “Fancy breakfast at mine, Bokuto-chan?”

 

It was amusing watching his dad’s expression change. From exasperation that his son had ‘finally’ walked through the door ( _Where did you get to?_ ) he hastily smoothed his features to neutral when he saw Tooru had company.

“I’ve been messaging you,” he said mildly, after Tooru had made the introductions. “Did you stay out all night?”

“Nope, got up early and as you can see from my clothes, I went jogging. Met Bokuto-kun in the park,” Tooru explained. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Entertaining clients, Tooru-chan,” his father replied, a faint reprimand in his tone. Clearly remembering they weren’t alone, he raised his eyebrows, then smiled at Bokuto. “You’re at college with my son, then? Are you also studying Psychology?”

“Nah, I... uh ... No, I’m doing Sports Science,” Bokuto replied. “We play volleyball, though. Oikawa’s like my Setter.”

“Really?”

“You’ll have to excuse my father, Bokuto-chan. He’s not a huge volleyball fan.”

“Not entirely true. I came to see you when I could,” he said, his focus still on Bokuto. “I work abroad and in Tokyo for much of the time, Bokuto-kun, but I do know about volleyball. You must be a Wing-Spiker.”

“Uh ... yeah. I am.”

“An exceptionally good one,” Tooru said crisply. He walked between them, squeezing round his father to enter the kitchen. “What do you fancy eating? We have – Oh ...” He stopped speaking, noticing the jug in the fridge.

“That’s why I was calling,” his dad interrupted. “I was going to make pancakes. There’s enough for three.”

To his surprise, although he didn’t let it show, Tooru’s father’s pancakes turned out to be good. The only time Tooru had attempted to make batter, the lumps had burnt on the pan, flour not fully mixed in, and not even copious squeezing of maple syrup had got rid of the taste. Iwa-chan had eaten his way through half of one, declared himself full, then spat out a mouthful into his handkerchief when he thought Tooru was looking the other way.

Bokuto, just as he was with everything else in his life, was enthusiastic about the pancakes, lavishing praise on Tooru’s dad almost as thickly as he covered each with chocolate spread and strawberries.

“These are so good, Oikawa-san,” he said, making sure he’d swallowed his third pancake before speaking. “Kinda like my mom’s.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is. It is!” Bokuto hastily reassured him. “My mom’s pancakes are the best. Well, ‘cept for Grandma’s, but she don’t ... uh ... doesn’t live in Tokyo, so ... yeah ...” he stopped speaking, licking his lips as he scooped more fruit onto his plate. “Anyways, these are real good.”

“They are, actually,” Tooru conceded.

“You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t know you could cook. I don’t remember you doing so before.”

His father smiled lopsidedly. “I don’t always have your mother or a housekeeper on hand to cook for me, Tooru-chan. It was either learn to cook or starve.” His eyes drifted to the fridge and the cupboards. “You should have had some cooking lessons before you moved in by yourself. All the ready-made meals in this place.” He shook his head. “I thought sportsmen prided themselves on eating properly.”

“They do,” Tooru protested. “I do. The meals you’ve trashed are nutritionally sound and there’s a large drawer in the fridge full of fruit and veg.”

“My son’s defensive,” his dad joked to Bokuto. “Can’t tell him his mistakes. Always the same.”

_And you’re patronising. Assuming I make mistakes. Always the same._

“Great Setter, though,” Bokuto said, pausing mid pancake. “Best I’ve practised with.”

Touched Tooru kept silent, but smiled across at Bokuto.

“Volleyball.” His dad sighed. “It’s not a career though, is it?”

Cocking his head to one side, Bokuto considered, then helped himself to a fourth pancake. “Nah,” he said, and widened his eyes. “S’more important than that. It’s like Kuroo says – he wants t’ be a doctor, right – which ain’t just a career, but a way o’ life. Same with me, only it’s volleyball that’s my ... uh ... vocation.”

“And if you’re injured?”  Tooru’s dad’s eyes widened and a wisp of mirth lilted from his mouth. “What happens to your vocation then, Bokuto-kun?”

Bokuto shrugged, “I dunno. Gotta give it a shot, right?  Like volleyball got me to college. I wouldna had a chance before. My parents are made up about that, so -”

“I never went to college... I was only telling Tooru’s school friend and his family a few months ago that to me it was considered a waste of time. And if you want an example of how injury can -”

Tooru closed his eyes. The pancake that had felt so light and sweet in his mouth, rendered dry and unswallowable as his dad dredged through unpalatable memories, pontificating to a clearly bemused Bokuto. Picking up his plate, he got to his feet. “Bokuto-chan, would you like the last one? I need a shower.”

“Ah... should I go?”

He shook his head, knowing as soon as Bokuto left his dad would start his inquisition again. Questions about the course, volleyball, and casting disparaging remarks on every aspect of Tooru’s life here, not because he was interested, but because he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ll walk in with you. I have an early lecture,” he lied.

“You are back for lunch?” his dad asked, managing to make it sound like a command.

A command that Tooru felt an illicit thrill in refusing. “Practice, sorry,” he said, and after depositing his plate in the sink, wandered to the door. “Not sure when I’ll be back tonight. Eightish, I guess, unless the guys decide to grab a bite.”

His father waved his hand at him, sipped his coffee, and then engaged Bokuto in more conversation, this time telling him about the trip to Singapore he’d just returned from.

 

The shower was not hot, but he didn’t care, letting the lukewarm water cascade over him, he squeezed the last of the showergel in his hand, made a mental note to buy more, and washed briskly.  Pulling on shorts and a shirt, which clung to his still damp skin, he packed up his kitbag, shoved his books into a backpack, then loped back into the kitchen.

“I could give you a lift,” his dad offered.

“Not necessary. We’ll walk,” Tooru replied, and gestured to the door with his head. “Ready?”

“Uh ... yeah ... only ... look ... uh ....” Bokuto was gnawing on his bottom lip. “Like, you don’t have t’ walk me back. I c’n find my way. I know Tokyo. It’s my city, after all.”

“I need to be in. Essay to hand in,” Tooru murmured, hoisting both bags over his shoulder. “As I said, I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so-”

“Don’t wait up,” his dad replied dryly.

Clearly sensing the awkwardness, Bokuto shuffled towards Tooru and with a mumble asked if he could use the toilet.

And Tooru wasn’t sure if it was Bokuto’s way of giving them some albeit brief time alone, or whatever, but as he left, his father stopped washing dishes, and faced him.

“Are you all right for money?”

“Fine.”

“And you’re happy?”

Tooru blinked. _Where had that come from?_

“I’m enjoying college, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not exactly, but I guess it’s good enough.” Taking three steps, he reached out, not too close, and touched Tooru on the arm. “Your mother worries.”

“She doesn’t have to. I would have thought Neesan would have given her a good report.”

“Oh, she did, and then Takeru talked a lot about Sky Tree and a friend who joined you.”

_What are you fishing for?_

“That would be Sugawara. He’s on my course and plays volleyball. And he’s from Miyagi.”

_Can you drop it now? I have friends. There’s no need to dissect my life._

“Volleyball. Mmm, I think that’s what she worries about.” His dad grasped his shoulder. “Don’t limit yourself, Tooru-chan. Any bozo can play volleyball. You’re smart, not like -”

“Is that everything?” he interrupted, and even though it was rude, he shook off his dad’s hand. “Only, Bokuto-chan and I really have to go.”

“No girlfriend, then?” his dad said, just as Bokuto emerged from the toilet.

Tooru’s lips twitched, the opportunity to discomfort his father in front of a guest far too tempting.  “I’m not about to drop another grandchild on your lap, if that’s what you’re both worried about. The Oikawa genes aren’t about to expand.”

“That is not-” His father stopped, seeing Bokuto and he stepped back into the kitchen.  “Look, have a good day and I’ll see you later.”

“Not if I see you first,” Tooru chirped. He gave a bow, playing along with the facade of pleasantries, more for Bokuto’s sake than his father’s because he was now shuffling his feet and looking more disconcerted than before.

With no reply from his dad, bar a backwards wave, Tooru left with Bokuto. Unlike before, Bokuto was silent, staring at the ground, or some spot in the distance as they walked along the pavements.

“We can get the bus over there,” Bokuto said after ten minutes.

“Quicker to walk in this traffic, don’t you think?” replied Tooru. Casting him a sideglance, he saw Bokuto’s brows knitting together, and his hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, despite the warmth if the morning. “I’m sorry about things back there, Bokuto-chan.”

“Uh...” He shrugged a response. “S’okay. I guess you don’t get on with your old man.”

“Does anyone?” he asked lightly. (He ignored the image in his head of Hajime and Iwaizumi-san.)

“I get on with my Dad.  He says it’s quieter now I’ve moved out,” Bokuto replied, and grinned. “But I think the others are noisier. Mom reckons they’ve ...” He screwed up his forehead, “Yeah, that’s it she’ says they’ve gotten louder to fill the void.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“Two sisters and a brother. All younger. None of ‘em at High School, so ... yeah ... You’ve got a sister, right?”

“Yes... How did you know?” His mind returned to their conversation this morning. “Ah, did my father mention her?”

He shook his head. “Suga-kun was telling us about the Sky Tree. Said you’ve got a nephew.”

“Mmm, that’s right. What else did Suga say?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

“Feh, I dunno. He was teasing Daichi-kun. Saying this kid ... I mean your nephew ... had a better head for heights.”

They were halfway to college, their pace slowing as the streets began to heave. Ahead Tooru saw a group of school kids, Junior High, maybe, ambling along and not in the least amount of hurry. In Junior High, he’d raced into school, Iwa-chan only just beating him, so they could practise on the courts.

_Everything comes back to him. And me. And us._

“They’re very close, aren’t they,” he murmured, more to himself than Bokuto, but the guy nodded all the same.

“Yeah, I mean they are ... uh ...” He blinked, and reddened slightly. “Sharing a flat.”

_He’s discreet, or tries to be._ Taking a breath, he wondered about Bokuto. On the surface, he was reckless and far too talkative, but where it mattered, he was clearly perceptive. He’d stood up to Tooru’s dad for one thing, refusing to be put down by the condescending talk about his career choice.

 “HEY! HEY! HEY! KOUTAROU!”

“Huh?” Bokuto’s head whipped around, left to right, trying to determine the source of the voice.  A female voice, Tooru divined, his eyes scanning over the heads of the kids in front.

“OVER HERE!” she yelled, waving one hand high in the air.

“There,” Tooru said, and nudging Bokuto, he pointed to a girl standing in the doorway of a cafe, a coffee in one hand, and some kind of wrap in the other. With a baseball cap on, he couldn’t make out her face, but he could see some strands of reddish brown hair, and a grin wreathing her face.

And Bokuto, completely spontaneously started to grin back. Wide-eyed, wide smile, no hesitation in pushing through the crowd, (apologising all the way) to swoop in on her. “SHIRO-CHAN!” he cried, and went to high five her, only pulling back when he saw the food in her hand. “Hey, hey, hey!”

“Watch the food, she said, smiling up at him. “What are you doing up this early? I heard you had to be dragged out of bed to get to practise last week.”

“Woke early,” he replied. “One of the guys didn’t get in ‘til five, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“You need coffee?” she said, offering him a slurp.

He shook his head. “Nah, I’m cool. Had breakfast already.” His head jerked back, his gaze encompassing Tooru as he suddenly remembered he was there. “This is Oikawa-san. His dad makes the best pancakes ever.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Wish I’d been there.” And then her cheeks pinked and she giggled. “I am so sorry. That’s very cheeky of me.”

She was assessing him, her eyes flicking up and down and he waited for ... for the usual reaction. Quickened breath, to go with the pink cheeks. But this girl, Shiro-chan, merely smiled and then turned back to Bokuto. “So, why haven’t I seen you for ages?”

“Busy. Been practising and stuff.” Bokuto plucked Tooru towards them. “This is Oikawa Tooru,” he repeated, with emphasis. “New Setter!”

“OH...” She turned back to him, and not the perusal was much more measured, not taking in his face, but his arms and hands. “I _have_ heard of you.”

“You have?” He wasn’t sure whether to smile back. There was something, he decided, a little unsettling about the girl, even if she was friendly.

“Mmm, well this guy’s a fan for one thing. And Kuroo-san mentioned you.” she peered closer, this time her attention drawn to his face, staring into his eyes. “Brown, huh, I was expecting red.”

“I’m sorry?”

She gurgled out a laugh. “Kuroo-san said you served like a monster. To have him say that when he’s played this big lug, is one hell of a compliment. Do you have horns and forked tail?”

He gave her a slow blink, hoping to convey some kind of superiority, but she didn’t seem at all fazed.

“I am joking,” she said a moment later. “But, seriously, I’ve heard you’re really good, so ... uh ... hi, I’m Shirofuku Yukie.”

“And you play?” he asked, remaining polite. Maybe she was on one of the Tokyo teams. Fukurodani perhaps as she seemed to know Bokuto so well. Or Nekoma. Either that or she was a cheerleader.

“Nah, nothing like that. I was team manager at Fukurodani,” she replied, and started to walk down the road in the direction of the college. “Or more like Bokuto’s off-court minder. So, if you need a hand dealing with him ...”

Oh. That made sense. There was an ease and familiarity between them, as well as a genuine affection, he thought, especially the way she was with Bokuto, teasing him but not unkindly.

“You’re at the University?” he asked.

“Yeah, Physiotherapy .” She sipped some of her coffee before finishing. “I’m looking at being a Sports Physio when I qualify, so you might see me hanging around more, waiting to get my hands on you.” She whipped back to Bokuto. “Hey, you didn’t tell me Konoha was visiting.”

“Ah, I forgot.”

“Really? Or did he tell you not to say anything?”

“Uh ...”Bokuto looked down at his feet. “His grandma’s ill. It was a brief visit.”

“Split up with Kaori-chan. That’s how I knew,” she said archly. “Look, I’m not going to bite his head off, Bo, and I’d like to keep in touch. So tell me next time he’s here, all right?” Unwrapping her food, she munched for a while, and the lack of conversation somehow forced them all to be quiet.  “Konoha Akinori,” she began to explain, turning to Tooru, “was one of  Fukurodani’s Wing Spikers. Slips under the radar when playing, but pretty damn good. Covered our Ace’s ass a few times, didn’t he, Bo?”

“Mighta done,” Bokuto grumbled.

“I met him,” Tooru told her. “He seemed ... um ... how shall I put it, sharp but also a little mild.”

“Sharp’s right. Mild is just his act,” Shirofuku replied. “First impressions are never ones I trust, Oikawa-san.”

And somehow, despite his initial misgivings, Tooru found himself warming to her, or at least he wasn’t actively put off and about to think up a scathing remark. He leant towards her. “And your first impressions of me?”

“Smart,” she said. “But so am I, and I’m not going to give you an answer straight away.” She grinned. “Buy me a coffee some time and I’ll think about it.”


	16. How you play the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime drops into a store selling pork buns ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, one of my fav characters appears :D

The smell of pork buns filled the air as he walked home from Karasuno. Barely having had time for his lunch, Hajime thought of the half-eaten wrap in his backpack – probably squashed and congealed by now – then dug into his pocket, pulling out some spare yen.

It was a small store, shelves packed with the usual groceries, nothing out of the ordinary, and yet the owners had clearly decided to set aside some space to serve food and drinks. Three small tables near the counter and a kettle boiling, spoke of a store that was about taking a little time out, getting to know a customer rather than just serving someone with the obligatory politeness.

Therefore, when the woman behind the counter didn’t offer any remarks, but accepted his order with a blunt nod, Hajime wondered why the place bothered. Maybe she was hoping for people of her own age, or was fed up with the kids that no doubt infiltrated the shop on a regular basis – whatever – she wasn’t interested in encouraging him to stay, or making his ‘buying experience’ a particularly worthwhile one.

The buns smelt good though, and as he wasn’t needed to pick up his brothers today, he picked up a bottle of sports drink and a protein bar (they were a brand he particularly liked, and he was quite surprised a local shop would stock them) and wandered across to one of the tables. He could always tell his mum he’d been studying. Hell, if anyone walked past it would look as if he were studying. They weren’t to know that the sheaf of notes he kept scribbling on were simple volleyball plays. No one would know if he kept –

“Volleyball, huh? You play...Ah...” The voice, the male voice raspy and deep, interrupted Hajime’s tactical study. “Iwaizumi Hajime, right? I heard you were at Karasuno, and I gotta say I was kinda hoping you’d turn up.”

Hajime blinked.  He stared up at the tracksuited figure towering over him, cigarette in one hand and a kit bag over his shoulder and the reason for the protein bars made sense. It also explained the volleyball magazine he’d spied behind the counter, although he guessed the reason for the moth-eaten manga was down to another worker.

“Ukai-san?” he offered, getting to his feet. “I ... uh ...” 

_What am I supposed to say? That I had no idea he was here._

“Nah, don’t get up.”

“You work here?”

“Family business.” He shrugged.

“I thought you worked at Karasuno.”

“Not full time, no.” Placing the bag on the floor, Ukai pulled out the empty chair next to Hajime. He steeled himself for whatever persuasive arguments the Karasuno coach was about to lay on him, determined to refuse, even though he was in the guy’s shop.

“Don’t have to scowl,” Ukai said. “I ain’t about to tell ya to leave. So, I take it from your expression, you ain’t popping by for a chat.”

“Uh ... no. I wanted pork buns.”

“Ah.”  He scratched his head.  “So, uh ... how are you doing?”

“Fine,” he replied politely.

“The sensei tells me you’re coaching.”

“Uh...” Sensei ... he must mean Takeda-san. “Lunchtimes and mornings,” he said, knowing he sounded defensive. “It’s more like ... um ... observing.”

“Giving ‘em pointers, right?”  Ukai sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I know that feeling. They any good?”

“Uh... they might ... um ... surprise a few people.”

He chuckled. “You’re loyal. Look, I’ve seen their results. Not seen ‘em play, mind you, so if you’ve got the coaching bug, then maybe we should talk.”

“Sorry?” Aware he was gaping, Hajime took a glug of his drink.

“It’s just I got a whole load of new guys and the older guys ain’t quite in their senpais’ league. They’re good, but as far as teaching goes, none of them is quite as ‘emollient’ (he tested the word, clearly liking the way it sounded) as Sugawara, or as able to mentor as Sawamura. And I thought I had a guy helping with serves, but ... uh ...”

“You want my help.” He blinked. “Really?”

“Wouldn’t mind. The sensei said you weren’t playing, but if you are interested in coaching, then –”

“Ukai-san.” Hajime was shaking his head, aware he should stop but unable to prevent the instinct. “I ... can’t help you. Sorry.”

He glanced away as the woman behind the counter approached, a plate in her hand and a rather resigned expression on her face. “Pork buns,” she said, laying the plate before him before turning to the coach. “Keishin- kun, I thought you had to get going. Isn’t that why you asked me to take this shift early?”

He scowled a little, but made no attempt to move. “Yeah, sorry, Ma. Just needed to check something. I’m going soon.”

She scowled back and muttered something unflattering as she stormed back to the counter. Her expression mutinous, but changing abruptly when another customer, a mother with her two kids, waited to be served.

“Can’t or won’t?” Ukai asked. He took a final drag of his cigarette, stubbing it out in the ashtray, then quirked a half smile in Hajime’s direction. “Look, you can be honest. I ain’t pulling that senpai stuff on ya. I watched you play, and you’ve got one hell of a serve. As you’re coaching, I just kinda wondered ... hoped even that ...”

He’d not stubbed out the cigarette fully, and Hajime watched as one or two orange embers flared before dying out. “Bit of both,” he admitted. “I can’t because I really do have to study extra hard this year and can’t afford the distraction. Or rather too many distractions and ... uh ... I won’t because-”

“It’s Karasuno,” Ukai guessed. “’K, I get it. Shame though, ‘cause you ain’t at Seijou now, so -”

“Still my team,” Hajime muttered. “Still the guys I’m gonna root for.”

“And college next year?”

“Um ... what about it?”

“Well, Sensei tells me you’re hoping to go to Tokyo?”

“Yes...” His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“They have excellent college teams there.”

He froze, but kept his eyes on Ukai.

“Guys apply from all over Japan,” Ukai continued, his voice quieter now. “Guys that have been playing.”

Oh, that’s it. Not coaching at all. “I’m injured.”

“Yup, I know you _were_. But you’re kinda fit now, ain’t ya? And if you want to get on those teams, then playing, for whatever team is-” He took a breath, his eyes flicked across to his mum, before he leant across. “Iwaizumi-kun,” he murmured. “Staying loyal to a team you can’t play for ain’t gonna help college applications. And even if you’re not going down the sports scholarship route to get in there, not playing at all ain’t gonna help get you a place on a team next year.”

The pork buns were getting cold. Despite knowing it would look rude, Hajime grabbed both of them, and wrapped them in a napkin, getting to his feet in record time. “I am not playing. College isn’t about volleyball, but getting a career.”

Ukai shook his head. He stretched out his hand, as if to restrain Hajime, then thought better of it. “That’s real sad. I watched you play, and I’d hate never to see that again.”

“I have loyalties.”

“Sure, but ... uh ... look if you want a game. Friendly like, then come and see me.”

“I can’t play for Karasuno!”  How did this man not get that?

“Yeah, I got that loud and clear. And you’d upset the balance I’m trying for, playin’ only now and then. ” He grinned, suddenly looking younger and far less irascible. “But Karasuno Neighbourhood team? You could come along any time. I’m ... uh ... Captain and not that bothered ‘bout balance.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. He fixed a smile on his face, trying not to imagine a team of old guys lumbering across the court. Why Ukai was a member he had no idea, but maybe that was why he’d turned to coaching.

“I have to go,” he muttered, bowing even as he took a step back.

“Yeah, sure. Think about it, okay. No pressure, but ya might enjoy it and our ace would appreciate-”

He fled, still shaking his head in disbelief. Being scouted for a fucking geezers’ team. Had his life gone to rackshit that quickly? Storming along the pavement, his black mood pressing heavy on his shoulders, someone was laughing. He could hear the mocking voice as if it were right next to him, and he swerved suddenly, turning around to face his taunter.

Barring the mom and her kids, who’d left the store shortly after him, the street was empty. He shook his head, trying to clear the mockery.

_Really, Iwa-chan. This is all you can expect without me there. I told you that._

 

He stormed home, dumping his shoes by the door and not even bothering to eat the pork buns, he fled to his room. He had an essay to finish, and a report to plan, but he stared at his computer screen not even bothering to turn it on. The protein bar was still in his pocket, untouched, but he spurned it now because what was the point? What was the fucking point in protein bars, eating well, drinking water or juice, and not ignoring the option of sodas? Who the fuck cared if he was unfit? If he couldn’t jump, or spike, or was so heavy he’d only lumber across the court. Good enough for a fucking neighbourhood team, if he swallowed his pride when things got desperate. That was all.

“Hajime!”

His mum was calling, her voice raised but not angry. Impatient, he thought, and he felt like yelling back to leave him the fuck alone, because he needed at least this time by himself, but then came a soft tapping at his door.

“Hajime-kun,” she murmured.

“Yeah, come in.”

Sliding open his door, she smiled at him. She was starting to show now, the soft swelling of her belly stretching her normal clothes, and she looked less tired, benevolent even. He couldn’t remember much about the pregnancy with the twins, just that he’d been able to get his arms around her, and then he couldn’t. His seven-year-old self had been bemused, but then he’d met Tooru and he’d not really wondered about his mom and new brothers anymore.

“When you have time,” she said, edging forwards just a little. “Could you go through your things? I’d like to throw away as much as possible before we move.”

“Uh ... sure.” He tried a smile back at her, but his lips still felt tight, so he looked down at the floor. “Do we have a moving date?”

“Next week,” she replied. “So before your birthday.”

“Ah, right.” Birthday. Something else he hadn’t thought about. Something he’d deliberately shut from his mind.

“So, if you wanted ... and if they didn’t mind the fact that things would probably still be in boxes...”

“What?”

She laughed. “Hajime, if you want friends over this year, then you can. The new apartment is bigger. I’ll take the twins out, and you and any friends can sleepover. I don’t just mean Tooru-chan, either.

He must have blanked her. He didn’t remember. He knew he’d said nothing, but he’d been gearing up for a ‘yeah we’ll see’ but then as she dropped that name into the conversation, his face must have frozen. Whatever happened stopped her laughter, and the merriment that had been in her eyes fled, replaced by something that he could only assume was shock and pity.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

He shrugged, not bothering to ask ‘what for’.

“Have you been in touch recently?”

“Yeah.”  Did Golden Week count as recent?

“And things are okay, are they?” She was fishing. It was her job, he guessed. Tooru had been a part of his life for ten years, and a part of hers too, he supposed, so it was only natural she’d ask after him.

But he couldn’t give her the answer she wanted, at least he couldn’t unless he lied.

He sniffed, and then with a grin he hoped didn’t look too fixed, he stared up at her. “He’s good. Playing a lot of volleyball, studying hard... so he says.”

He wasn’t sure she believed him, but his mum knew when not to push. It was something they understood about each other. The temper that flashed between them, the sparks that could descend into a flaming row, only highlighted how similar they were. The flipside of their coin was a need for space, a darker side where each could brood.

“You miss him,” she stated, and reaching out, she ruffled his hair. “Next year you’ll be there, Hajime.”

_Next year..._

“Yep.” He grimaced and made a show of turning on his computer. “But not if I don’t get my homework done.”

“I will let you get on,” she replied, with one last cuff around his head. “Dinner at eight, okay?”

_Next year ..._

“Sure. Thanks.”

She left and he was now alone, watching as the computer screen flickered into life. He checked his emails, but there was nothing important. Tooru and he had never used it, unless they had something in particular to send.

_Next year,_ he thought, _I won’t matter anymore. He’ll have moved on, and I’ll be further behind than ever before._

 

***

 

_"For when the One Great Scorer comes_

_To mark against your name,_

_He writes – not that you won or lost –_

_But how you played the Game."_

 

Take inspiration from the above quotation and write an essay or report discussing the themes explored.

_‘Grantland Rice was an America sportswriter.’_ Hajime typed. _‘He was someone credited with elegant prose, who’d helped romanticise an era of sports where the participants were seen as gods. Although he defended the rights of players to earn money in their field by turning professional, he also argued against big money, claiming it warped the sensibilities of everyone involved-‘_

This is dull. Hajime stared at his computer screen, trying to work out where to go from here. The report wasn’t due for a week, but as they’d soon be moving, he’d thought it best to make a start –or at least plan it out. Choosing an option where he could include sport was ideal, and it helped that he’d studied a series of this journalist’s reports at Seijou during American studies. This was the type of essay he’d normally take in his stride, but for the nagging feeling that his tutor’s stress that this early in the year they had free rein, was making him think that something more was required than piecemeal analysis.

_‘How you played the game.’_

_Game game game._

He doodled on his pad as he thought, scribbling it out when he realised he’d drawn a volleyball.

_Could we have played differently?_

His eyes misted over and furiously he blinked away the tears prickling his lashes.

Kyoutani’s face swam before him, snarling his fury as he hurled himself across the court.

_Should we all have fought that hard?_

“We’ll be a team out of kilter!” he’d yelled at Tooru, when he’d first suggested bringing Mad Dog back.

“He’ll shake us up,” Oikawa had said, dismissing his objection with a wave of his hand and a smile. “And he hates to lose.”

“Meaning what? That I don’t want to win!” He’d balled up his training top, throwing it slap centre in Oikawa’s face.

“Of course not!” Oikawa had snapped, for once looking angry and not at all mocking. “But we need an edge, and with Mad Dog snapping at our opponents heels, they’ll lose sight of our Ace.”

His hand had been warm on Hajime’s arm, his thumb wiping off a bead of sweat, and Hajime had wrested away, leaving Tooru to laugh at his anger. But it had been the touch, not Tooru’s decision, that had set his nerves tingling. His reddened face caused not by anger but thwarted, humiliating desire.

_He was right,_ Hajime mused. _Kyoutani shook us up. It wasn’t his fault or yours that I failed to make it work._

And now the pictures in his mind changed. A toss so perfect from far off the court, set only for one person.

_I failed you._

They’d played so well. Fuck, it _did_ matter that they’d lost. And although he thought himself healed, every so often, the wound reopened and the pain was raw inside.

_‘Is there compensation in how you play the game when you lose?’_   he wrote. _‘If a player gives their all, is the loss more bearable than when they know they could have done more?’_

What the fuck did he know about loss?

_‘Was Grantland Rice’s perspective honeyed because he was a spectator and not a participant?’_

He typed quicker now, letting his thoughts flow as the words accumulated on the screen. After every match against Shiratorizawa, there’d been frustrated tears, and bitter promises that they’d do it the next time. But Spring High had been their last chance. They’d trained. They’d practised. Their lives on hold as every spare moment geared them towards their apex.

And in one afternoon, hard-fought though it may have been, the apex levelled.

Unresolved. Incomplete. And did it matter that they’d left so few margins for regret?

_I should have spiked that ball so fucking hard not even Sawamura would have got there._

He wanted it. Oikawa wanted it so much. And it’s gone. My fault.

Hajime dropped his hands, kicking back against his desk and stared dully at his wall. _I wanted it._

“Hajime!”

“Huh?  Sorry Mum, what?”

She slid open the door and he heard the voices of his brothers, chatty and loud, laughing from the kitchen. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes. Dinner is ready.”

“Ah...” he swallowed. “Sorry, I ... uh ...”

“Hmm, doing homework, I can see. Well, wash your hands, then join us.”

He got to his feet, then leant back across his desk intending to delete the work, start afresh with his first plan - a dull and safe analysis of a journalistic style. But something stopped him, and he pressed ‘save’ instead.

***

Abukara-san, his Japanese tutor, was one of the older teachers at Karasuno, his grey hair and glasses giving him a gentle demeanour and one that completely belied the vein of waspishness running through him. He stared up at Hajime, looking vaguely askance when he handed in the paper the following morning.

“You have another week, you know?” he said, not yet accepting Hajime’s essay.

Hajime bowed, and continued to hold out his folder. “I’m kind of busy for the next week ...” Hajime shrugged and tailed off, hoping the sensei wouldn’t quibble too much. The fact was that the essay was complete and he hated having things like that hanging around. It made him uncomfortable, knowing work was still there to be worked on – or overworked in his case.

“’Kind of’?”Abukara snapped. “You either are or you aren’t busy, Iwaizumi-kun.” Pressing his lips into a line, he accepted the folder, dropping it to the side.

“I _am_ busy,” Hajime replied, not letting his eyes drop. “We’re moving apartments next week and we’re in the process of packing.”

The sensei’s eyelids flickered in the way that suggested he was assessing Hajime.

“Moving? Are you leaving Karasuno so soon?”

“Ah, no. If anything we’ll be closer.”

His lips twitched and the bitter lemon expression faded as Abukara sighed and then returned to the paper he was marking. “That’s something, I suppose.”

Huh? “Sensei?”

“From what I’ve seen of your work, Iwaizumi-kun, I like your writing. You clearly have a brain, and it’s refreshingly _blunt_. You get to the point very quickly, not mincing any words at all. If there’s a fault, it’s that you don’t embroider, but as long as you’re not planning on becoming a romance novelist, then your style is ...” He paused, mulling over his options. “Fit for purpose.”

“Uh... thank you.”  _I guess._

“You _aren’t_ planning on being a romance writer, I hope?”

_Oh, he’s smiling. Maybe I’m not supposed to leave yet._

“Lawyer,” he countered. “Advocate, more specifically.”

“Arguing in court.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, good luck with that.”

“Thank you.” He bowed, taking a step back.

“You might want to cultivate a more suitable demeanour, Iwaizumi-kun.”

“Pardon?” He opened his eyes wide, aware he was scowling, and tried to settle a more passive expression on his face.

“Better, I suppose.” Taking off his glasses, Abukara polished them on his sleeve, before sliding them back up his nose to peer up at Hajime. “The most successful advocates are dispassionate when assessing, yet passionate in their arguments, and the _very_ best always deliver with a degree of charm.”

_Yeah, and I bet you’ve seen one episode of Law and Order, and think you’re an expert._

He could feel himself scowling again, but with sheer force of will, he stopped and instead tried a smile. “I’ll work on that, sensei,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

“Don’t they give out charm degrees at Aobajousai, then?”

“Sorry?”

“Elite schools,” he said softly. “I was under the impression they churned out replicas born to charm birds from trees.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Abukara-sama,” Hajime replied, keeping his voice level.

“You don’t. It’s refreshing to know I was wrong.” Picking up Hajime’s report, he held it back out to him. “Do you want an extension as you’re moving?”

Shaking his head, as much to say no as to clear the muddled thoughts, Hajime took a bow. “I’d rather have it out the way, if that’s all right with you.”

“Hmm, perfectly ’all right’,” he replied, affecting quote marks as he mimicked Hajime. He chuckled and leant back in his chair. “You’re determined to plough your own furrow, aren’t you, Iwaizumi?”

_What the fuck do I say to that?_ “I’m kind of independent. I always have -” he muttered.

“Which is a ‘kind of’ double edged sword,” his sensei continued, clearly not expecting a response. “Piece of advice for you: be careful not to get stuck in that rut your ploughing, because there are always other options.”

_No, there aren’t,_ he thought leaving the classroom after a last respectful ‘thank you’.  _Tokyo or bust._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Oikawa's bday today, but sadly I miscalculated and this is an Iwa-chan chapter. (I will get to both their respective birthdays) 
> 
> HOWEVER, the story just before this in the series, 'Here With Me' is all about Oikawa's birthdays and how he celebrated with his Iwa-chan, and I'm particularly fond of it.


	17. Blood Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru needs refuge and allies, but without Iwa-chan who can he turn to?

It was a light day for him. Despite what he’d said to his father, Tooru only had one Astronomy class.  He’d had a vague idea about looking out for Suga and Yaku, joining them for lunch, or even going for another run with Bokuto, but once the reality of free time hit him, he stepped out of his class and wondered what to do. There was the library, but the report was practically finished bar a few minor edits and the next essay not due until the middle of the following month. He pondered seeking out Sawamura or Kuroo and seeing if they wanted to practise hitting his tosses, but then the image of his dad waving goodbye, almost dispiritedly, flashed back to him. He was going abroad tomorrow, leaving for America for a month, and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to spend time with Tooru.

Decision made, he stepped up his pace, striding along the Tokyo streets. At worst, he’d have to listen to his Dad lecture him over volleyball and how ‘lucky’ he was for a couple of hours. At best, his Dad might actually have taken on board Bokuto’s vehemence that it was a vocation and started to appreciate it in his son. Okay, so that was doubtful, but he could play nice for two hours, build up his diplomacy skills and bank up some goodwill for the future.

“Dad!”  He closed the apartment door behind him, slipped off his shoes and dumped the bag by the door. “Dad, it’s me. I’m free for lunch after all.”

The buzz of the shower reached his ears, and the sound of his father singing, so with a grin, he wandered into the kitchen to pour a juice.

It had been a while since he’d heard his dad sing, but it brought back memories from when he was young and his dad would sing show tunes to him, acting out all the voices.

_“Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase.  
Hakuna Matata! Ain’t no passing craze!”_

Laughing as the words filtered through to the kitchen, Tooru opened the fridge door. He remembered being in London, five or six years old and his dad swinging him around as they watched the The Lion King. Hoshiyo, with all the scorn only fifteen-year-old girls could muster for their kid brothers and embarrassing dads, had huddled further into the sofa, scowling as she pretended to read a book, but joining in the next day when Tooru had watched it again.

“Hakuna Matata,” Tooru sang, smiling. “Hakuna –”

A rush of cold – not just from the fridge – waved through him. Standing very still, his hand tightened around the handle, and he could feel his toes curling under him.

_Not now._

_Not again._

There was a plate of sushi in the fridge. Elaborate, not homemade, and now he looked again, a bottle of wine that hadn’t been there before. His throat dried, and for a moment, all he could think about was leaving this place, running straight back to college, trying to find something else to do, a volleyball to slam, or someone to talk to.

_Iwa-chan._

_Fuck!_

As he slammed the door, he saw two glasses on the draining board, sparkling clean, waiting.  He picked one up, held it up to the light, and then reaching back into the fridge, he pulled out a carton of mango juice, and then the plate of sushi, carrying both to the table.

_How do I play this?_

Because play he had to. There was no way, nowhere and _no one_ he could run to.

With trembling fingers, he reached for his phone, then flicked on his music, letting it fill the room as the roar of water from the shower ceased.

His dad hurried in, towel around his waist and another over his shoulders. “Tooru,” he said, blinking. “You said you weren’t around for lunch.”

_Imagine this is a game. He’s Tobio-chan, or Ushiwaka, and I have to get under his skin._

“And yet you bought all this yummy sushi anyway,” he drawled and peeled back the clingfilm. “Any wasabi?”

“Tooru... I ... There is a work colleague coming by.” And then the all encompassing smile, the wide smile that somehow never reached his eyes, rendering them cold. “A business meeting before my trip.”

“I won’t disturb you,” Tooru replied, adding a trill to his voice. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse, but maybe I could sit in on the meeting.”

“Tooru-” His dad tried again, but he cut across him.

“You are always saying I should have more of a business head on me. Maybe this will inspire me. I could wait on you ... both.” He paused, waiting for his dad to splutter something, and when he didn’t Tooru added, with a hint of venom and steel. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch the wine.”

“You cannot be here,” his dad said at last.

“I could stay in my bedroom. You won’t know I’m here at all,” Tooru said. “I’ll close the door so you won’t hear my music, or any calls I might make.”

“Calls?”

He licked his lower lip, then met his father’s gaze, mirroring the wide smile. “You said Mum was worried about me. You’re right, I’ve been slack and I really _should_ give her a call, especially as she’ll be on her own with you leaving the country soon.”

If he had any doubts at all, his father’s next action swept them all away. He reached over to the counter, finding his wallet, and fished out several notes. And it was odd, so incongruous, that his dad, dripping wet and cloaked only in a towel, now appeared to think he had the upperhand, that his son believed his story.

“Here’s money for lunch. I’ll see you this evening, Tooru-chan.”

“Now that’s the reason I decided to come home,” Tooru replied, getting to his feet. “I’m out tonight. Study date, you see, ” he lied. “So I thought you might want to ... Clearly I was mistaken.”

“As you can see, I have plans. You _should_ have called.”

_My fault, then._

The ring of the doorbell cut through the ice between them. His father, clearly startled, practically leapt across the floor to answer it, only the towel untucking stopped him getting there before Tooru.

She was attractive, Tooru would give her that. A decade younger than his mum, he thought, but not so young that people would smirk and talk of ‘old goats chasing young lambs’.  Well dressed, too, but not in the suit he’d seen her in before, and the bottle she carried in her right hand spoke of lazy afternoons, not an hour or so poring over statistics.

“Masaru!” she greeted, then faltered, taking a step back, nearly tripping on her very elegant heels.

“Wrong, I’m afraid,” Tooru rasped, hating the fact that confronted with the reality, he couldn’t carry through the nonchalance he’d been so careful to cultivate. The worms inside of him began to writhe, especially as he took in the scent of her – floral like roses – the same scent he’d smelt on his mother.

_He must buy it in bulk,_ he thought, and felt a spurt of laughter hitting his teeth – reviving him.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he said, and bowed deeply. “I’m don’t think we’ve met, although ... you look a little familiar.”

At last his dad spoke. “Tooru, this is Gashuko-san, she used to be my assistant.”

“Yes, yes, I do seem to remember you now,” he said, flicking a glance at his dad and relishing the tight expression on his flushing face.  He stepped to the side, deliberately masking any eye contact between them, and lowered his voice. “Have you been promoted? Is this what you’re celebrating?”

“Uh... no. I left the firm. This is just ... us catching up.” She inclined her head, sidestepping Tooru and then took another small bow. “I can see this is a bad time, Oikawa-san. I will leave you to your lunch with your son. You’ve ... you’ve grown very tall, Tooru-kun.”

“Fresh air, exercise and a pure heart,” he cooed. Taking a breath, feeling it shudder inside of him, he turned one last time to his father, taking the money from his outstretched hand. “I’ll be back late, in fact I’ll probably stay the night at my friend’s, so don’t wait up.”

“Tooru, wait!” There was no plea; it was an order, but Tooru had long since stopped listening to other generals, preferring to command his own battles.

Slipping on his shoes, he grabbed his bag, and squeezed past Gashuko, managing to keep the half smile on his lips.  He was halfway down the corridor, when a hand grabbed him. His dad, still in a towel, pulled him back to face him. Tooru had never been more grateful for the fact that he was so tall, and used the extra centimetres to his advantage, stiffening his back as he gazed down at his father.

“This is not what you think.”

_Such a cliché._

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I would hate for you to worry your mother over a misunderstanding.”

“Dad,” he breathed, “Why do you think she was so keen on me moving into the apartment? I’m clearly _supposed_ to be her eyes.”

He sniffed, and still did not look away from Tooru. The lift could be heard approaching, and he released Tooru’s arm. “And are you her eyes?”

“I don’t know.” It sounded lame, he knew that, but faced with the reality, he had no idea. Was he about to call his mum, upset her again? She wasn’t a fool, the early days of Tooru’s childhood had been punctuated by rows and thrown plates, but things had settled now with her often accompanying her husband abroad. She played the company wife, a much admired asset, and if Tooru thought she was blind, maybe it was strategic, a survival tactic to insulate herself from further unhappiness.

“She didn’t want you moving in here, Tooru,” his father said.

“What?”

“She told me she didn’t think you’d be responsible enough. Your mother would have preferred you living in halls, so ... there was no ulterior motive in letting you use the apartment.”

“You’re lying.”

He shook his head, but kept his eyes on Tooru. “What I’m trying to say...” He paused as they heard the clank of the lift, but the doors didn’t open. “What I’m trying to say is that your mother is happy with the way things are.”

“Then why did she say I could move in, if she was so set against it before?”

“That I don’t know. You were sulking on holiday, maybe that’s the reason. She finds it hard to say no to you, Tooru.”

_Sulking. They really had no idea._

“Are you going to tell me she’s a work colleague?” he murmured, gesturing to Gashuko-san with his head.

“I wouldn’t insult you, Tooru,” his dad replied, his voice tissue paper thin. “You’re eighteen not eight.”

It was, he thought looking back, the first time his father had acknowledged he wasn’t a child, that he could make his own decisions, and was no longer malleable.

He almost smiled, he remembered, was about to nod before he left, but then his dad ruined it.

“Would you like to meet her? Properly, I mean.”

“Give you my approval?”

“That’s _not_ what I meant.”

“Well.” He leant towards his dad, staring full on, knowing it was his most intense glare, the one Iwa-chan warned their teammates about when he was going to serve. “That’s what it sounded like. And no, I don’t approve, but please, don’t worry, I won’t spill your _sordid_ secret to Mum.”

The hand gripped tighter on his arm, fingers biting, and then, suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Tooru saw his dad’s other hand, not flat but curled into a fist. It was like slow motion, and Tooru could have ducked, but caught somewhere between disbelief and knowing he deserved it, he remained stock-still.

The punch landed on his jaw. With all the weight of the desperate behind it, Tooru reeled but held his ground.  Horror flickered into his dad’s eyes. Tooru heard a scream. Gashuko-san shocked ran towards them, tugging on his father’s arm – too late too late too late.

The copper taste of blood touched his tongue. Cutting across his father’s spluttering half-apology, and Gashuko’s gargled breathing, Tooru unpeeled the fingers clutching his arm.

“Enjoy your sushi,” he spat, finally stepping away.

His dad yelled his name again, but he didn’t turn back.

He didn’t wait for the lift. Once he’d made it round the corner, he hurtled down the stairs, chicaning off the stairwell walls in a bid to put as much distance between himself and the certain proof of his dad’s clay feet. And as he ran, he bit his lip hard, so desperate was he to not cry, to show no emotion at all, drawing more blood to join that let by his father’s punch.

It was nothing. He was used to injuries. Volleyballs, flailing arms, tripping over, running so fast off the court and into chairs. Staying upright and not realising your nose was bleeding. Laughing off a head-butt. His father’s punch was nothing.

It was everything.

His father had never hit him. Never.

But then Tooru had never crossed that line before. Smart remarks might have passed his lips, his father replying with something far more crushing, or blithely ignoring him, but Tooru had never said out loud what he’d known for years.

He continued to run, even though he knew his father wouldn’t be following – he just needed some distance, needed time away. He needed to talk, his instinct screamed at him to pick up his phone and contact the one person who’d never let him down.

Until now that is.

_What does that matter, Shittykawa!_ he yelled in his head. Slowing his pace, he patted his jeans pocket, but it was empty.

“Shit, shit, SHIT! It’s on the table.” He gritted his teeth, deliberating before picking up the pace. “I’m not going back. I can’t.”

He’d hole up at college, in the cafeteria or the library, wait it out before his dad’s flight. He only had the afternoon to kill, and then there was volleyball. He’d practise, join the others for pork buns or whatever it was Suga said they did after. Make himself amenable. Joke. Keep it light. Lay on the charm. Maybe wind Sawamura up a little.

Automatically his mouth twitched into a smile. It stung, opening up the cut and he tasted blood again. The numbness was wearing off. The adrenaline leaving too, all he could feel was pain. He stopped again, closed his eyes and stepped back to lean against a shop wall. When he’d been a kid, with no Hoshiyo to protect him, or Iwa-chan to run to, he’d huddled into the sofa when his parents shouting got too much, hoping it would submerge him.  Maybe if he stood here for a while to catch his breath, he’d merge into the bricks, unseen.

“Oikawa-kun?”

He’d missed the set of footsteps stopping in front of him.

“Kuroo-kun, hi,” he replied, faux-casually.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Time to kill and all that jazz. How are you?” He flicked him a look, noticing the usually unflappable Kuroo had reddened cheeks and sweat on his brow.

“Uh... fine. Forgot a text book.”

“Then don’t let me keep -”

“You’re bleeding,” Kuroo interrupted and leant closer. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” He brushed away Kuroo’s curious hand. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. Look ... uh ... my apartment’s near here. Come back and sort that out.”

“I’ve had worse on court,” Tooru continued.

“Yeah, and you’d get off court pretty quick once you started bleeding,” Kuroo replied, and this time when he touched his arm, Tooru didn’t brush him away.

The apartment Kuroo shared with Suga, Sawamura and Yaku was ten minutes away, and although Kuroo had appeared to be in a hurry, he slowed his pace to walking, not talking too much. Up four flights of steps (lift out of order again!) the apartment block wasn’t badly maintained, although it could have done with a lick of paint, Tooru thought.  In some respects, it reminded him of Iwa-chan’s place, but then as he was the only one of Tooru’s friends who lived in an apartment block, the comparison wasn’t a revelation.

What hit him first when Kuroo unlocked the door was how different it was from the Iwaizumis’ apartment. It was the smell , he thought, that by product of four males living in one small space. Four males who grabbed food when they could, played sport together and then only managed the basic rudiments of cleaning. Not that the apartment was unclean, exactly. Before Kuroo shepherded him into the small kitchen, while he raided a cupboard for a first aid kit, Tooru saw a tiny sitting room, remarkably uncluttered.  But then all the cups had been piled up in the sink.

“Excuse the mess,” Kuroo muttered. “Hot water’s at a premium in the morning and Yaks was s’posed to do the dishes last night.”

“You have a rota?”

“So far,” Kuroo replied, sounding vague. “Ah-ha! I knew we had some.” Pulling out a tube of something and some cotton wool, he ran the tap in the sink, running his hand under it for a while. “Luke warm, but better than nothing.”

“I can do this, you know,” Tooru said. “Show me a mirror, and I’ll deal with it myself.”

“Indulge me. I need the practise,” Kuroo murmured.

“Weren’t you in a rush to get a text book?”

“I was gonna come back for lunch anyway,” he replied.

Tooru winced even under Kuroo’s gentle ministrations, but he kept still and didn’t offer any resistance. “Fell over, right?” Kuroo said, continuing to dab with the cotton wool. “Or was it a door you walked into?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I don’t think you need stitches, but it might be sore for a while.” He scooted across the room, opening up the freezer compartment of the fridge. “We have ice packs here. Perks of sharing a house with three other jocks.”

“Thanks, but it’s not that bad.”

“Might as well. And a drink. I think we even have straws somewhere.”

“I should go.”

“You don’t have to.” Kuroo offered him the ice pack. “Unless you’ve got somewhere you _have_ to be, then hang here for a while.” He touched him on the hand, his fingers cold from the ice. “We can talk about volleyball, nothing else.”

“I can’t talk,” Tooru mumbled, his words coming out thick under the icepack and the swollen lip.

Kuroo gave him a grin. “You can listen, and nod when I tell ya how cool I am on court.”

“I’m not nodding,” Tooru said. He laughed, then winced, his lips splitting a little, but the blood had stopped flowing now. He could leave – there was no danger of his lip needing stitches – but it was nice here, despite the odd smell, and Tooru found himself agreeing, settling himself in the sitting room on the futon, while Kuroo made them both drinks and heated up ramen.

The ice pack helped, allowing Tooru to slurp his ramen after a while. His jaw was less numb, but didn’t seem as painful as before. Aching rather than stinging. True to his word, Kuroo did most of the talking, not too much, and not really about himself, just saying the odd thing, then letting loose a question to which Tooru only had to answer a yes or no.

They’d finished, Kuroo getting to his feet to clear the bowls when they heard a door open and then someone shuffled into the room. Swaddled in a quilt, his face grey and eyes hooded, Suga waved a hello and flopped on the futon, before registering who was there.

“Hi,” he said feebly.

“Didn’t know you were here,” Kuroo said. “What’s up?”

“Migraine,” Suga replied. “Or it was. The worst is over now, just ...”

“Need anything?”

“If we have camomile tea, that’d be great,” he said, then flicked a glance at Tooru. “Sorry, am I disturbing you both?”

“Nah, I gotta get back to college after this,” Kuroo replied, and wandered towards their kitchen. “One tea coming up. Oikawa, want something now?”

“No, I’m fine, I should leave with you and let Suga-chan sleep.”

Suga blinked at Tooru. “Your lip looks funny. Or is that my eyesight?”

“Tripped over,” Tooru replied smoothly. “Kuroo very kindly looked after me.”

“Ah, good,” Suga yawned.  “You don’t have leave, unless you need to be somewhere. I’m just going to veg in front of the TV, marathon some movies, maybe?”

“Which ones?”

“Harry Potter?” Suga said with a smile, his face looking just a little less white now.

“Which one?”

“You choose,” Suga said, still grinning.

“No, you.”

“Is this a test?” Suga said. “If I don’t choose the right one, you’ll leave.”

Laughing, despite the fact that it caused his lip to sting, Tooru nodded. “Choose wisely, Suga-chan, or I’ll be forced to Imperio you.”

“Illegal curse!  You’re tough. I’d just have cast my bat-bogey hex on you.”

“Here’s your tea,” Kuroo walked in, placing the mug on the floor, and shook his head at them both. “I’ll leave you to your wizard stuff, then.” He poked his foot at Suga’s. “See you at practise?”

He nodded. “Yes, I should think so. Thanks for the tea.”

After Kuroo’d left, when Tooru was flicking through the DVDs, he turned to Suga. “I can leave if you need to sleep. You don’t have to be polite.”

“Which film shall we watch?” came Suga’s reply.

 “Azkaban?” Tooru replied, holding it up.

“Great choice. I love the clock,” Suga said. “And Remus.”

“I was more of a Sirius fan,” Tooru said. “My sister had two gerbils and I made her call them Sirius and Regulus.”

“I have a dog called Luna,” Suga countered. “Daft thing. Can’t wait to see him again.”

“Him?”

“Yes, I know Luna is a girl’s name, but she was my favourite character and my dog has this beautiful blonde tuft of hair, so ...”

“Why not Draco?”

“Was never going to happen.”

“I rather liked him,” Tooru said, his fingers staying on the DVD as he enjoyed the debate. “Please don’t tell me, Suga-chan, that you _only_ like the good guys?”

“When I was ten, I took a lot of things at face value,” Suga replied. “That and my sister used to stare at the screen and shriek ‘KOUSHI’ whenever Draco appeared.”

“Sweet,” Tooru replied. He gave half a smile, a little sly, not using the side of his mouth that had not been hit. “Malfoy Koushi-chan– Perfect!”

“Stop it,” Suga flapped his hand, then pushed his hair off his face. “Or I’ll hex you.”

“Kou-chan, then, I’ll drop the Malfoy.”

“What’s wrong with Suga?” he protested. “Everyone calls me that.”

“Exactly.”  Finding the DVD, he inserted it into the player, then backed away to the futon, Suga had stopped sprawling but was still hunched into his quilt, the remote in his hand. “What does Sawa-chan call you?”

“Suga.”

“Really?”

“It suits me.”

“Hmm, maybe.”

The screen flared into life, the opening credits beginning and the familiar theme drifted towards them. Tooru took a seat on the futon, settling back when Suga didn’t appear to mind and stretched his legs in front of him. From out of the corner of his eye, he watched Suga taking quick sips of his tea, colour staining his cheeks once more as the steam clouded his face.

_Glory, he’s pretty._

“Why doesn’t he call you Koushi?”

Suga shrugged, or at least the quilt moved a little so Tooru supposed he’d shrugged. “He never has, unless he wants to annoy me.”

“No sweet nothings in the night,” Oikawa whispered, fluttering his eyelashes. He waited for Suga’s reaction, expecting his cheeks to pink, wondering what he’d look like flustered.

But Suga laughed, not the least embarrassed. “If he wants a punch in the gut and not a shag then, yeah, he might use my name.” He grinned, then cooed, “Are you blushing there, _Oikawa-chan_?”

_Touche!_

“You’re very ... um ... together, aren’t you?” Tooru replied.

“Me, personally?” Suga asked. “As much as we all are, I guess.”

“I meant you and Sawamura.”

“Ah.” Suga smiled again. “Yeah, we are.” And then he seemed to mentally take a step back, something clouding his face. “Don’t spread that around, will you?”

“I’ve already said I won’t,” Tooru replied. “But is there much point in hiding it?”

“Who knows?” he thought Suga murmured, but he’d turned away, focussing on the TV and turned the film up.

“It still annoys me that Harry got away with casting that Lumos spell when he was underage,” he said. “The Ministry would have been tracking him. And he’d had that letter the year before when Dobby levitated the trifle.”

_Changing the subject ... fine._

“There are a lot of things that annoy me about the films – don’t get me started on Lavender ‘dying’ at the end,” Tooru replied, and then he smirked, “Koushi-chan.”

He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t punch him or yell. Instead, he glanced at Tooru. “It’s ... uh ... my birthday soon, and we’re planning a party here if you’d like to come. Nothing that big, but it could be fun.”

Touched, Tooru nodded, then asked. “When?”

“Very last minute. My birthday’s the thirteenth, so the Saturday before.”

He blinked. “The tenth. Tenth of June?”

Suga nodded. “I want to Potter theme it, but no one I know wants to dress up as Harry– so I’ll probably drop that idea. Asahi’s hoping to make it, and Shimizu – our old manager. I’ll invite people from our course, too. And if you want to bring -”

_Tenth._

“I ...” he interrupted then paused. “Um, I’m not sure.”

 “Ah, fine.” He sighed, sounding dispirited. “No big deal, but it could be fun. Only if you’re free.”

“It’s just ...” Tooru pressed his lips together, slowing every action even as his mind whirred.

_We haven’t had a birthday apart since we met._

“It really isn’t a problem,” Suga murmured, and turned his eyes back to the screen. “I always wanted Aunt Marge to explode. Vicious cow!”

“I’m ... um ... thinking about going home,” Tooru explained, then smiled. “Look, I’ll let you know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for sporadic updates but I'm on holiday and access to charger and adapter is patchy.


	18. Change of Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matsukawa is a good friend.

Flicking through the folder, Hajime decided it wasn’t worth keeping and dropped it in the second rubbish sack.

“What about this?”

“Hmm?” He glanced across to Mattsun, his eyes focusing on the programme in his hand. “Is that from Tokyo?”

“Yup.  World Youth tournament. I didn’t know you’d gone to that.”

“Yeah, Kitigawa Daiichi trip.”

_We promised we’d compete there one day._

“I went, too.” Mattsun flicked through it. “Whoa, remember seeing that guy.”

“Italy were amazing,” Hajime agreed. “Also, did you see that Brazilian Libero? He had wild hair and a really loud yell.”

“Yeah.” He flopped down on the bed, smiling as he scanned the photographs. “Amazing to think we were there, but didn’t know each other then.” He paused, chewing his lip. “I knew _of_ Oikawa, though.”

There it was. The first mention.

“Next tournament I saw him play. You as well, I think.”

“I subbed in once or twice,” Hajime replied.

“Third game in, we played Shiratorizawa.” Mattsun laughed, shaking his head as he closed the programme. “You can guess how that went.”

He heard the wistfulness, and it struck him then just how sharp the memories were not just in his own mind – or Oikawa’s – but Mattsun’s too, and probably Makki.

“Does it still hurt? That last game, I mean.”

“Honestly?” Mattsun puffed his lips out. “Not sure. I wish we’d gone to Nationals. Wish we’d managed one time, but ... uh ... it was never going to make any difference to me.”

“You like working?”

“I like the money.” He grinned, smile lopsided and wavy, turning down at the corners. “And I like getting my hands dirty with an engine. Working out how things tick. Couldn’t do a lot of that at Seijou.”

“You should have gone to Date Tech.”

“Yeah. I’d have stopped your shot.”

“You’d have been slacking on the sidelines letting the Libero do your work.”

“True.”

He sounded sad, his mouth now straight, lips thin, and Hajime knew what he was thinking about – the view from the sidelines was the worst place to be at the end of the game, whatever the result.

“I’ll keep the programme,” Hajime said. “Chuck it in the box.”

“What’s the new place like?”

“Bigger. Not by much. Mum and Dad have a larger room, and there’s a small one joining it for the baby. Koji and Sab are still sharing. It needs a lot of decorating.” He picked up a book, smoothing the spine before putting it in the charity pile. “There’s a bit of a garden attached. Not communal. So ... yeah, I guess it’s better.”  Pausing he turned his back on Mattsun, ostensibly to continue the sort out. “Do you want to come over on my birthday? DVDs, that sort of thing. If you’re free, that is. I know you might be working, but Makki said he’ll swing by, and ... well ...”

“Oikawa?” Mattsun sounded casual, but his hand had stopped flicking through the programme. “Is he back that weekend?”

“Uh-”

“You are talking to him, aren’t you?”

Hajime shrugged, glad Mattsun couldn’t see the way his face was flaming, or his shaking hand. “Texted over Golden week. Offered to go up there. He started yelling.”

“He called you?”

“Nah, dumb ranting text. Might have told him to fuck off.”

“That’s practically a come on from you.”

“I know, right,” he joked.

“But you _have_ spoken since then?”

He shrugged.

“Hajime!”

“He _could_ text me!”

“You twat!”

“What?”

“For fuck’s sake, Golden Week was a month ago.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve been busy. And he’ll be busy – studying, volleyball, training, parties.”

“Not really.”

“Huh?”

“Whenever we’ve talked, he’s at home watching TV.”

“You’ve called him?”

“Sometimes. Or he calls.” Mattsun sat back on the bed, lounging on his elbows. “Come to think of it, he said he’d spoken to you last time I asked.” Snorting, he rolled off the bed, then resumed looking through the stack of programmes. “You guys are so fucking obstinate! Kiss and make up, will you!”

“It’s not like that!”

Because it wasn’t. Not in the way Mattsun was implying. Yeah, they were physically close (or had been) but there was more to it. He’d cut Tooru to the core with the betrayal as he saw it, and Hajime had known it would hurt. He’d known there’d be fallout, but he’d thought he could hold on, just a little longer. Just until Tooru understood.

“You’re together. We know that.” Mattsun was saying.

“Can we change the subject... Hold on, what do you mean ‘we?’”

“Just me n’ Takahiro. But I’m pretty sure the others guessed. You guys weren’t exactly subtle. All that perfect trust stuff from Oikawa was a huge giveaway. Poor Shigeru, I think you damn nearly broke his heart hooking up with Tooru.”

“Uh ... we didn’t hook up for ages. That perfect trust stuff, as you put it, was in the game, and that we’re friends. There was never any ... anything going on until we’d lost.”

“Really? I thought...” Mattsun smiled again, clearly tickled by something because his shoulders were shaking. “Taka’s won his bet then. I reckoned second year.”

“Fuck this! How long had the pair of you been gossiping?”

“It was how we got together,” Mattsun said, smirking. “But enough of that. Are you going to ring Oikawa and get him to visit for your birthday?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You know you want him here. And it’ll be fun the four of us catching up.”

“I guess. Look, if you wanna go, I got this now.”

“How about you call him now?”

“Phone’s out of charge.”

“Mine isn’t.” He fished it out of his pocket, latest model – it was clear where he’d been spending his new earned cash – and flashed it under Hajime’s nose, Oikawa’s number all ready to be pressed.

“Mattsun, please.”

“I’ll do it, then?”

“I’m not talking to him!” He tried to reach the phone, but Mattsun, being the tallest git in the world, held it out of his reach and dodged when he jumped. 

“It’s ringing now so he’ll know I’ve tried to call,” he explained, “Chill, I won’t tell him where you – Ah, Oikawa? Oh ... right.” He shot Hajime a look, frowning a little. “Uh, Oikawa-san, yes, I was after Tooru. Yes, it’s Matsukawa Issei. I’m very well. Working for my dad. Mmm, I like it.”  He flapped at the phone, making a winding up gesture with his hand. Then he blinked, and as if on automatic, turned his back on Hajime. “Really? No ... um ... it doesn’t matter. I’ll catch up another time. Not important, Oikawa-san. Thank you and sorry for bothering you.”

“That ... uh ... was Oikawa-san,” he said unnecessarily as he shoved his phone in the back of his pocket.

“I gathered that,” Hajime said dryly. He picked up a workbook – a really old one from before Kitigawa – Tooru had doodled an alien on the cover and Hajime had got into trouble for it.

_He’d owned up, though._

“Oikawa’s out. Left his phone behind.” He laughed. It sounded odd. “His dad said he was studying. That’s why he was out. Um ... yeah.”

“Sure.”Hajime shrugged, not really up to dealing with the enigma that was Mattsun at that moment. He checked the workbook again, wondering why he’d kept it, and flicked to the last pages.

_‘Iwa-chan is a poo.’_

_‘Don’t write on my book’_

_‘you are’_

_‘it’s my book. Go away’_

_‘you’re grumpy today.’_

_‘tired’_

_‘why’_

_‘twins cry a LOT’ _

_‘sleepover at mine’_

_‘can i?’_

_‘whole weekend if you want. Mummy won’t mind.’_

Had he done that? Probably. The weekends they’d spent together during those first years had merged losing any individuality. He remembered the odd trip with the Oikawas – fishing with Tooru’s dad, or going to volleyball games – but he couldn’t have pinpointed any dates, not with any accuracy. At Kitigawa the time spent together had been more intense– volleyball had seen to that – but they’d still run off to the park before going home, and had been round each other’s homes for tea more often than not.

And they’d not spent a birthday apart for over ten years.

“Do you think Oikawa’s settling in?” he asked. “When you talk to him, I mean.”

“Uh ... yeah, I guess.”

“Only you said he doesn’t go out much.”

“He mentions training,” Mattsun replied. He sounded cagey, not meeting Hajime’s eyes. “And ... uh ... he’s talked to Sugawara. Has a class with him. And Sawamura, of course.”

“Cosy,” Hajime snapped, then he laughed. “Fucking ironic, right. He yells at me for going to Karasuno, yet becomes best buddies with them.”

“Wouldn’t say it’s like that. He just ... uh ... getting on with people. He’s playing volleyball. They could be teammates. What are you getting at? Do you want him to not play?”

“Course not!”

“Sounds like that to me.”

“Just!” His hand furled around the textbook, staring down at the scribbled messages. Best friends – they’d not needed anyone else when they were seven. It was only later when they wanted to be part of a team that others had joined them. But even then it was as though they’d interrupted them, not disturbed anything.

Not like now.

“You reckon he’s happy there?”

“Oikawa Tooru won’t be happy until he’s led Japan to Olympic Gold,” Mattsun said, adding, “even then he’ll be pissed if Ushiwaka’s on the same side.”

“You know what I mean.” He bit his lip. “Has he settled there?”

“Sure. He moans about the traffic. Says jogging in the park’s a naus ‘cause he has to breathe in so many fumes getting there.” He laughed a little. “Reckon he misses the Miyagi air. And he’s not the big fish any more, is he?  Gotta start again.”

“Yeah.”

“For someone who hasn’t wanted to talk about him for weeks, you’re sure as hell interested now.” He paused. “Maybe you should talk to him, ‘stead of asking me.”

He dropped the workbook in the rubbish sack, then fished it out and put it in his keep box. “Tell him hi from me,” he said, knowing it was feeble.

“Sure.”

Mattsun sighed and returned to the box of programmes. To Hajime’s surprise, he didn’t mention Oikawa again.

***

The summons to Takeda-sensei’s office came unexpectedly. Hajime was due a follow up session regarding his college admissions in the middle of June, but two weeks early was of no real use especially as he’d left all his application material at home, packed into a box before the move at the weekend.

“If this is about volleyball,” he growled to himself. “Then I’ll ... I’ll ...” The truth was there was very little he could do except hold firm and say no. Although to be fair to the sensei, he hadn’t approached Hajime recently, merely nodding his head in greeting when he saw him passing in the hall. And Ennoshita, too, had stopped mentioning volleyball, except when he was on his way to practise, or to ask Hajime how the girls were doing.

It had surprised Hajime, though, that Ennoshita had kept talking to him. Back at Seijou, he’d spent so much time obsessing about volleyball that his friendships had revolved entirely around the team, and he kind of assumed it would be the same here. But Karasuno, from what he’d found out (from Sugawara mainly) were still not a big club. Ennoshita might be the captain, but he didn’t solely hang out with the team.

He knocked on the door, but the voice telling him he could enter, was not that of the Guidance Counsellor, but the far more gravelly tones of Abukara-sensei.

“Uh... sensei,” Hajime murmured, poking his head around the door, “I have a meeting with Takeda-san. I can wait out here.”

“No, come in,” Abukara said, gesturing to him with a wave of his hand. “He’ll be here soon.”

Frowning a little, Hajime stepped inside, accepting the seat by the desk. He chewed his upper lip as he wondered what was going on, but whatever it was, it appeared Abukara-san was going to take his time before explaining.

His sensei got to his feet, clutching a folder in his hand, one Hajime immediately recognised as his own.

 “When you handed this in early, I was tempted to hand it back because you _obviously_ needed more time,” Abukara began, pursing his lips as he stood in front of Hajime. “But then I decided it would be a lesson to you not to take things quite so lightly if I took it in as it was. It would be your fault if the grade reflected your lack of care.”

He coughed; the sound rattling in his throat and stepped closer. The smell of cigarette smoke pervaded his fusty tweed jacket and breath, but Hajime schooled himself not to flinch, as he was clearly here to discuss his substandard report.

_Should have stuck to the dull as fucking ditchwater analysis. Now got a failing grade to contend with and getting chewed out by two tutors. Fuck fuck fuck._

“However.” His sensei’s lower lip quivered, and then he gave a ghost of a smile. “It is I who has learned the lesson, Iwaizumi-kun. This report is a fine piece of writing. A dispassionate argument, and yet you have imbued it with the passion of a personal perspective, too.”

He fell silent, obviously expecting a response, but all Hajime could do was smile dumbly and wonder why he’d been called in to discuss this when the sensei could have spoken to him in the lesson.

“That’s ... um ... kind of you to say so, sensei.”

“So good in fact, that I had no hesitation in bringing it to the attention of Takeda-san.”

“Um ... okay ... uh ... why?”

“Ah!  I forget. You’re a new student, aren’t you?”

He nodded, but just as Abukara was about to elaborate, Takeda-san bustled into the room, glasses slightly askew and a bulging briefcase in his hand. “I must apologise for keeping you both,” he said, smiling at the pair of them. “Have you explained, Abukara-san?”

“I was getting to that,” he replied, a little waspishly, and then turned back to Hajime, perching on the side of the desk. “Now, I hope you will excuse the liberty, but I showed it to Takeda-san, and he would like to publish it in the Karasuno High magazine.”

“Er ... what?” He faltered, realising his surprise was coming over as rude, and unfurled his brow.

“It’s a school magazine that comes out once a term. I’ve been running it for just under a year,” Takeda explained. “Well, when I say running, it’s purely a supervisory role. The pupils do practically all the work.

“I am asked to keep a look out for well written pieces.” Abukara licked his lips. “May we use it?”

“I guess. I mean, yes, you’re welcome to. It’s ... um ... kind of personal, too, and it’s based on something that happened when I wasn’t at Karasuno, so I don’t get how it relates to-”

“It’s about loss, Iwaizumi-kun, not being able to live up to expectations, and yet still striving. Therefore, I’d suggest it’s eminently and eloquently relatable to everyone who reads it,” Takeda murmured.

“You also have a way with words that’s not stuffy, but very readable. Not over-crafted or hung up on its cleverness,” Abukara put in, and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

_You saying I’m dumb?_ He hid the smirk, even blushing because he recognised the praise for what it was - an honest appreciation.

Nudging an ashtray towards his colleague, Takeda took a seat behind his desk, then smiled across at Hajime.  “It was an inspiring read, Iwaizumi-kun,  and if you ever want to drop by, see how we put this thing together, or perhaps you have other ideas for articles, then feel free.”

“I don’t really have the time, sir.”

“This is after school and during frees. It’s not necessary for everyone to be there, but contributors are welcome to join the editorial staff. And ...” He let the pause stiffen in the air between them before adding, “it counts towards college credits, so if you’re still intent on applying to  Tokyo for Law, showing you regularly take part in something constructive that can only hone your debating technique will be a strong asset.”

_Can’t be that easy, surely?_ “An article a term wouldn’t count as regular, would it?”

“Ah.” Takeda continued to smile. “There’s a fortnightly newspaper as well, which focuses more on current events.”

“There is?” He didn’t remember seeing it. Seijou had had a newssheet, one he’d ignored until it came to the match reports.

“Online,” Takeda qualified. “You could submit multiple articles. Our editors go through them all, and decide which ones they’ll use.”

Something must have shown in his face – horror or downright refusal because Takeda pitched back, and locked his fingers together.

“Don’t look quite so fierce.” Lighting his cigarette, Abukara took a drag and then chuckled. “I swore I wouldn’t take on any extra responsibility this year as I’m near retirement, and yet he’s managed to talk me into assisting him.” He inclined his head to Hajime. “Not that it’s a chore when I read something as strong as this, Iwaizumi-kun.”

“I can’t take on anything else. This is an important year and-”

“It can only _help_ your college application,” Abukara interrupted. “Takeda-san is quite right. This would be an excellent credit. We sent another pupil on the same course last year, and his resume was not as strong. Of course his sports’ scholarship underpinned his results, and I gather he impressed in the interview, but it cannot harm your application to add to it, Iwaizumi-kun.”

_I don’t have Sawamura’s chance of a scholarship place. Maybe extra credits are the way to go._

 “I know you’ve recently taken an interest in coaching, but it wouldn’t interfere with that,” Takeda urged. And then he gave a little smile and straightened his glasses. “You could even write about it if you wanted. It’s an interesting take on a sports club.”

He almost nodded, not quite willing to succumb this easily, but there was a lot to be said for this route, and Takeda’s words made sense to him. Was he just being stubborn in not wanting to get involved? 

A newspaper – that’s all it was – not the club. He wouldn’t be playing.

“Or ... uh ... match reports, perhaps?”

He could feel a heavy shroud of weariness tugging at his eyelids and took a breath. “Match reports,” he stated.

“Mmm, we have practise matches coming up, Iwaizumi-san, if that interests you. And of course, the Inter High will soon be here.”

“No.” He didn’t care if it was rude. He registered the surprise on Abukara’s face when he got to his feet, but also the lack of shock in Takeda’s expression. 

“Iwaizumi!” snapped Abukara. “Your sensei has made a perfect reasonable suggestion to help you, and you treat him with this level of disrespect.”

“I apologise,” he said, not sitting back down. “Use the report. I have no objection to that, but I won’t ... I can’t take time out to ... eulogise your volleyball team.”

“Eulogise?” Takeda blinked rapidly, his lashes fluttering hard under his glasses and his hand tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Iwaizumi-kun, that wasn’t the idea at all. Pick another sport if you wish. It’s just that you write well, and I feel you could interest people, people who perhaps haven’t been interested in sport before. There is no contributor with your experience in any sport. And no-” He held up his hand, thwarting Hajime’s objection. “I’m not interested in eulogies – that won’t help your case at all – but your insight is an asset and your dispassion and lack of bias...” (Did he linger on that last word?) “- makes you far more qualified than anyone else currently on the team.” He coughed. “The editorial team, I mean. Look, will you at least think about it?”

“Guess I can,” he muttered, knowing he sounded grudging.

Abukara-sensei still looked angry, puffing fast on his cigarette, but Takeda-san smiled warmly. “Then that’s all I can ask for, Iwaizumi-kun. Let me know if you need a schedule of matches.”

_Oh you’re pushing it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delays. I was away and net access was limited.


	19. Turbulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwa-chan's birthday, or Suga's? 
> 
> Tooru treads on dangerous ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One or two of you have asked me if Oikawa and Iwaizumi have broken up. 
> 
> I'm not sure either of them know.

To Tooru’s relief, his dad had long gone when he returned to the apartment. He’d delayed going back, but instead of accepting pork buns from Sawamura (it seemed to be some kind of tradition that he paid) he went back to the library, insisting he had an essay to complete.

But he’d stared at the bookshelves in front of him, counting the minutes until he deemed it safe to go home.

Home was pushing it. The apartment was where he slept, where he ate, where he watched DVDs and exercised in the gym. It wasn’t Miyagi. It wasn’t his large bedroom bedecked with volleyball posters, his own TV, playstation, computer and a shelf of books. But then that was just stuff, he thought. Returning to his mum, the house and garden wasn’t going to solve a thing.

_How am I going to face her knowing what I know?_

He could call Hoshiyo, she’d understand. But then she’d feel that obligation too, and it wasn’t fair as she spent so much more time with their mum that she’d have to conceal what she knew.

_He’s made me complicit._

The thought he’d had of returning to Miyagi nagged at him. Double edged sword, delivering triumph but also death.   _Maybe I can stay with Iwa-chan._ He sighed, remembering with longing Iwa-chan’s small bedroom, the lock on the door that never seemed to work, the order with which he kept everything, and the mirror in the wardrobe too low to be of any use to a grown boy.

The wardrobe would contain a Karasuno uniform.

He left college, slipping through the office workers escaping for the day, and then walked purposefully into his apartment block.

Tooru’s phone was on the kitchen table. A note from his dad perched on top gave a brief apology and then the order ‘we’ll talk when I return’.

_Will we?_ he thought. _Or will you ignore it and me as you always do?_

Picking up the phone, he scrolled through to Hoshiyo’s number, and then flicked down, finding Iwa-chan’s. _Can I face the fact that hanging up next to that uniform will be a Karasuno kit shirt?_

He flicked away, took a breath, and put his phone down.

It rang. He fumbled it up again, astonished that even at this time their thoughts were so in tune, that the person ringing would know how confused he felt that he...

“Iwa-chan!”

“Uh, no, it’s Makki.”

“Oh. Ha –” He forced a laugh, hoping it sounded light. “How are you?”

“Good. Is this a bad time?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“You sound odd.”

“Just got in.”

“Ah ... yeah.”

Tooru frowned. Now Makki sounded odd, but he didn’t ask, instead wandering across to the fridge to pour himself milk.

The sushi was still in there – untouched. He slammed the door. “How are you?”

“Still good,” Makki replied.

“Sorry, bit tired. We’ve had practise and it went on a long time. Very busy here. Well, I guess you know all about that. Are you playing much?”

“A bit,” he replied. “Ahh, hold on.”  He started saying something, his voice muffled, and far away. Tooru waited, making out the odd word, and someone yelling in the background.

“Shall I call you later?” Tooru said at last.

“Nah, it’s cool.” He paused, and Tooru could hear a sharply drawn breath. “I just wondered if you’d thought about coming back for Iwaizumi’s birthday.”

“Oh... uh ...”

A loud exhale. “Come on, Oikawa. I know the pair of you aren’t speaking much.”

“Hey, I called recently,” he lied.

“Yeah, right. Issei told me Hajime says the same. You’re as bad as each other.”

“I’m busy,” he snapped. “And I’m sure Iwa-chan is, too, with his new teammates.”

“Teammates? I wouldn’t call-”

 “He’s playing right?”

“Nope.”

“What?” He jerked his head; his knuckles tightened on the phone. “Is he injured again?”

“Not that I know. Look, hold on.”

He heard a door slamming and then Makki’s voice – a little flustered but apart from that, calm. “Oikawa, he’s not _playing_ for Karasuno.”

“Rubbish. You’re telling me he’s quit, or they won’t pick him?  He was in Tokyo with them for Golden Week. Sugawara told me. He went to watch and -”

“I don’t know what Sugawara saw,” Makki said dryly, “but if he’s claiming it was Iwaizumi, then he’s clearly high on something.”

“But Iwa-chan texted me. He said he’d come and visit! He couldn’t have done that unless he was in Tokyo anyway.”

“Maybe he would have hitched, or he could have got the car from his dad. I don’t know. What I can tell you is that he spent Golden Week at Little Tykes with the Chibis. I dropped in myself once or twice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah...” There was a pause as if he was going to say something else but he stopped. “Look, come down for his birthday and the pair of you can straighten this out.”

 “Um.”

“Come on, don’t be petty.”

“I’m never petty!” he caught sight of his reflection in the window and rapidly rearranged his face to unpout his lips.  “Is there a plan for this ‘party’?”

“Pizza and DVDs – nothing spectacular.”

“No one from Karasuno?”

He heard a groan. “Why does that even matter?”

_It just does._

“Purlease,” he exaggerated, rolling his eyes even though Makki couldn’t see him. “I don’t want to be talking volleyball with Chibi-chan, or have Monk-chan eyeing me up all night ready to throw the first punch.”

Makki grunted – the person in the background started yelling again. “Look, it’ll only be Seijou, okay? Probably just us four.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Oikawa! Stop being a diva!”

“All right!” He started to laugh. “I was thinking about it this afternoon, but I don’t want to tell my mum or sister I’m coming home, so can we keep it quiet? I’ll ... uh ... crash at Iwa-chan’s, if he’s still speaking to me.”

“Sure!”  Makki sounded pleased, and Tooru could practically see the smile on his face. “Issei and I will pick you up from the station.”

“You have a car now?”

“Nah, Issei has access to them though. We might end up with Porsche. But more likely a van.”

“Limo with tinted windows or I’m not coming!”

“You’ll be walking if you keep that up.” Another crash from the background, and Makki groaned. “I gotta go. Living on campus is the pits at times. You’re lucky having an apartment to yourself. Look, text us the time of your train, and we’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

“I will.” He started to giggle, the sound falling off his lips. “Don’t tell Iwa-chan, it’ll be a birthday surprise.”

“He’d prefer a gift.” Makki laughed. “You’re like a kid, you know that.”

_I feel like one,_ he wanted to say. Eight years old and racing across the lawn. Iwa-chan the fastest boy alive – the God of the Wind, and me, Icarus, flying through his currents.

But he didn’t say that to Makki. He said goodbye clicked off his phone then leapt in the air.

And for the first time since he’d moved to Tokyo, he slept well.

***

He _over_ slept, missing his morning jog, but he didn’t care, bounding out of the apartment with a spring in his step because it would all be good. Everything would be fine and he’d see Iwa-chan really soon. On the way to college, realising he had a little time to kill and his stomach was rumbling, he dropped into a coffee shop, intent on treating himself to a pastry and a sickly coffee. He grinned, imagining Iwa-chan’s mouth twisting into a grimace (he hated syrup and found cream sickly, often spooning it off to let Tooru or his brothers have it.)

“Name?” asked the barista, pen in hand, and adding a flustered please when she caught his eye.

“Oikawa,” he replied, still examining the goods under the glass. “Do you have any of the almond Danishes with the yummy custard?”

“Just cooking a fresh batch.  It’ll be about five minutes. Do you want your coffee at the same time?” she asked.

“No, I’ll drink it over there,” Tooru replied. He waited patiently, smiling at her as she prepared his latte, and then sauntered to the tables set at the back where he pulled out his phone.

He could get the Shinkansen on Saturday. He flicked through the times, settling on the one that would get him in at six. He’d spend one night (hopefully at Iwa-chan’s) and return on Sunday. He’d miss a practise, but as he’d stayed over Golden Week and hadn’t gone home for half term, that shouldn’t be a problem. He was up to date with his work (the upside of having no real social life) so two days away wasn’t going to raise eyebrows, certainly not this early into the semester.

**[Makki -chan, sorting out train times now. 6:10 probably, unless I’m delayed.]** he typed, then pressed send.

Makki’s reply came quick as ever. **_[‘k cu then. text when ur close.]_**

He sipped his coffee, his eyes tipping back to the barista now serving another customer. Of the pastries, there was no sight, but he decided to stay a bit longer.

“Two Espresso Macchiatos, please.”

Tooru blinked, recognising the rumbling voice of Sawamura. And then the other chattering to the barista, a lilt in his voice. “Any almond Danishes?”

“Oh, yeah!” Sawamura agreed. “Make that two.”

“Five minutes,” the barista replied.

“We’ll wait,” Suga trilled, then barely drawing breath, he bundled Sawamura out of the queue and continued talking. “So, she’s ecstatic, basically. Keeps dropping his name all the time. I’m not sure whether I should feel put out or not!”

“We’re no longer senpais, Koushi,” Sawamura teased.

Tooru peeped over waiting to see if Suga would whack Sawamura after he’d used the name, but he appeared not to have noticed.

“I know that, but really it’s all ‘Iwaizumi-san said this,’ and ‘Seijou’s Ace is _amaaaaaaazing_ ’. Iwaizumi-san thinks we should try yadder-yadder-yadder!” Suga’s voice took on a breathy quality, his eyes wide like an ingénue. “She’s convinced they’re going to win the Inter-high.”

_What?_

“It’s good they’re confident, I suppose. Optimism kept us going during the dark days.”

_She? She?_ The Karasuno manager. Yacchan, Suga had called her.

“Yes ... but ...” Suga flapped his hand. “Ah, forget it. I’m pleased for the team.”

“Your coffees!” cried the barista.

Sawamura stepped forward. “Thanks.”

Huddling further into his hoodie, Tooru didn’t move.

_Seijou’s Ace. They call him that!_

He remembered the run up to Spring High, when one or two of the Seijou girls had baked brownies especially for Iwa-chan. He’d pretended to be affronted, had endured the laughter of Makki and Mattsun, then laughed at Iwa-chan’s scowl, relieved he’d not followed up on any of the confession notes, telling himself it was for the good of the team and that was all.

Sugawara’s voice reached him again.

“I asked Oikawa yesterday, but he says he’s going away. I wasn’t sure if he made that up or not, to be honest.”

Sawamura yawned. “You are definitely over-thinking. He’s going home, that’s all. It’s not a slight against you.” He laughed. “Maybe he’ll turn up at Karasuno.”

“Ha! Tanaka will go apeshit. Ennoshita told me he was twitchy about Iwaizumi as it is. Oikawa appearing with his fangirls -”

“Danish are ready!”

“Ours!” Sugawara dashed forward to pay, picked up both bags and handed one over to Sawamura. He took a bite out of his, slurped some of his coffee, and nudged Sawamura. “Come on, or you’ll be late.”

“We could have it the weekend after if you want.”

Chewing, Suga shook his head, then wandered towards the door. “It’s fine. I’ll ask him to something else.”

_Makki lied._

“Oikawa-san?” the barista called, looking across at him. “The pastries are ready now.”

Getting to his feet, Tooru accepted the Danish. It was warm in the bag, and smelt delicious, but the thought of it curdled his stomach.

_What was this? A conspiracy to talk me round?_

He slunk out of the cafe, watching out for a mop of silver hair – not wanting to catch up. Sawamura was jostling Suga, face half turned and smiling as Suga laughed back.

Thoughts raced round his mind.

_You lied, Iwa-chan. All that crap about how you weren’t going to play._

Obsessive and dark, the sort of thoughts that only appeared in the dead of night, now surfacing and not dying under the sunlight.

_Blaming volleyball and me for your results._

The couple ahead sped up, getting swallowed by the crowd.

_I know you too well. You can’t not play. But I thought you had more honesty._

Without taking a bite, he threw the pastry in a bin, ignoring the rumble of his stomach.

_You were Seijou’s Ace. I made you._

Unconsciously, he’d sped up, sped so fast he was now within snapping heel distance of Suga.

Who was alone.

Trying to slow down, to duck behind another pedestrian, he missed his chance when Suga glanced his way.

“Hi!” he called out.

“Sugawara.”

He frowned a little, but said nothing.

“No Sawamura today,” Tooru said cheerily.

_Keep it light, so light. I didn’t hear a thing. This has nothing to do with them. With him. I can get through it. Tokyo is not Miyagi!_

“He was late so ran on without me.” He held up two coffee cups. “Do you want his?”

“Thank you!”  He took the proffered coffee. Strong and not at all like his latte.  The caffeine hit would make his head spin.

_Maybe that’s what I need._

“I was thinking,” Suga was saying as they started to walk. His voice was a little shaky. “As you’re not here, would you ... um ... like to join us instead on my actual birthday?”

“Us?”

“Daichi, Kuroo, Morisuke and probably Bokuto – he joins us for most things. The noodle bar after practise, that’s all.”

“Uh ...”

“I understand if you’re busy.”

“It’s not that.” He took a sip of his coffee, his stomach grumbled and he regretted the rage that had seen his throw away the pastry.

_Tokyo, not Miyagi,_ he thought, and took a breath. “My plans have fallen through, so if the invitation to your party is still open, then, yes, I’d love to come, Suga-chan.”

The smile on Suga’s face was entirely genuine, and although he scowled as well, it wasn’t fierce. “It’s only open if you stop calling me that.”

“I promise,” he said, making sure his eyes were wide.

 “I don’t trust you in the slightest,” Suga replied, “but I guess I can’t _un_ invite you now.”

“Now you’ve given me Sawamura’s coffee, we’re practically related, Koushi-chan.”

“Stop!”

***

He felt better.  Somehow Suga’s chat (or was it that smile?) had a way of seeping its light into the dark inside his head and by the time Saturday came around he was quite looking forward to the party and studying his wardrobe.

There was no theme. Suga had laughed when Tooru had asked, saying much as he’d have loved to insist everyone wore robes, the heat in the apartment meant no one was comfortable.

“Our air-con is shit, and I want everyone to feel comfortable, so whatever you want.”

So he’d dressed in cargo pants, and a black and silver galaxy tee (there was no one here to snort a ‘typical’ at him, after all.)  In his hand, he had a gift. Suga had said it was unnecessary, but it was something small, something he was sure Suga would laugh about, although there was an air of trepidation as he approached the apartment block, because maybe he’d got it wrong.

(In his back pocket, his phone vibrated for the third time. He ignored it.)

“OIKAWA! YO!”

He turned, fixing a smile on his face. “Bokuto-chan, on your way to Suga’s, I presume and ...” He widened the smile, bowing his head to Shirofuku. “Hello again.”

“Oikawa-san,” she grinned at him. “Yeah, we’re on our way, just waiting for someone.”

“Konoha forgot to get a card. He’s gone in there,” Bokuto finished, gesturing towards a convenience store.

“He’s here? Again?  I thought he was at college in Kyoto.”

“Mmm, his grandmother’s ill,” Shirofuku replied. She stepped a little closer to the shop window adjusting her hair bobble. “Ughh! I look dumb with a ponytail.”

“I like it,” Bokuto said, tugging playfully and pulling her ribbon askew.

“That does it!” She ripped out the hair tie, fluffing her hair with her fingers until it framed her face. “Gah, that’ll have to do. I’m not the cheerleader type.”

Resisting the urge to pat down a recalcitrant curl, Tooru said, “Who _are_ you wanting to cheer on, Shirofuku-kun?” 

“No one!” she replied, a little too quickly. “I am done with volleyball. Three years with this idiot put paid to that.”

“And yet you’re coming along to a party that’ll be full of players,” said a new voice. A sly voice. A voice that belonged to a fox.

Konoha stood behind them, his hand lightly brushing Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Because Aki-kun, it’s either this party or sitting in my dorm watching shit on TV.” She pulled a face then started to laugh. “The girls I share with are annoying, but they’re spitting feathers they didn’t get an invite. If only they knew ...”

“Knew what?” Bokuto asked.

She literally rolled her eyes at that, then linking her arm in his, she dragged Bokuto forwards. “They’re not going to get lucky with the birthday boy or his friends.”

“There’s always me,” Konoha said.

“Treat me to katsu curry and I’ll introduce you,” she called back, then lifted a mask to cover her face. “Shall we get a move on before I pass out on the fumes?”

They followed. Tooru walking with Konoha, passing very vague hellos. He was interesting, Tooru decided. Decent looking and with an attitude, Tooru thought amusing. Clearly not at all overawed by Bokuto, he had a confidence about him that he wore even when not on court or in the gym.

_And he’s at college with Ushiwaka-chan._

“Must be hard being down here and missing practises,” he murmured, casting his net gently on the waters.

“Coach is cool about it. I promised him I was using the gym, and it’s not as if it won’t be useful.”

“Hmm?”

“We’re bound to play each other, don’t you think?  Our colleges, I mean. I’m not sure I’ll get on the team, but ... uh ... Bokuto tells me you’re an amazing Setter, so I’m expecting to see you both pretty soon.”

“He said that.”

“Don’t fish,” Konoha warned.  “Of course he did. And he ad _ooored_ our Fukurodani Setter.” His eyes glinted a little. “Take care of him, right.”

If it had been another player, Tooru would have laughed, but Bokuto, he knew, for all his talent and bravado needed nurturing. “I will.” He pursed his lips. “If we get to play Ushiwaka, then I’ll want him in top form.”

The party was buzzing when they arrived. In a small apartment, they’d tried to make more space by moving everything from the lounge including the futon, leaving cushions on the floor, and the coffee table pushed to the side. It was a bar now, with a huge bowl of dubious looking punch in the middle, cartons of juice, bottles of water and soda flanking it. In the kitchen, someone had laid out bowls of crisps and nuts. And there was a half hearted attempt at health with carrot batons and strips of cucumber. 

“Hey there!” Suga, carrying coats,  wriggled through a group standing in the hallway, beaming at the four of them. His eyes were glittering. “Lovely to see you all.”

“Present for you, Suga-chan,” Tooru cooed. “Un cadeau!”

“Ah, merci, ma petit-pois.” He giggled. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not much.”

“You said not to,” Bokuto said, aghast. “So I didn’t.”

“Chocolates,” Konoha interrupted, thrusting a carrier bag at Suga. “From all of us. Thanks for the invite.”

“You’re very welcome,” Suga said, still giggling.

“Suga-chan, are you a little high?” Tooru asked.

“On love and ... uh ... Kuroo’s punch has a bit of a kick. Hey, I’m nearly nineteen. Only another year and it’s legal.”

“Suga! Let me take them before you forget where they’re going,” Sawamura said, approaching. He grinned at them all, then raised his eyebrows as he extracted the coats from Suga’s arms. “He’s been testing the punch – all afternoon.”

“I can still punch you, Dai-chaaaan.” Suga huffed, blowing upwards so his fringe floated off his forehead. “Now, Oikawa, am I allowed to open your present, or are you going to be a meanie-pants like Daichi and insist I wait until my actual birthday?”

“I’m never mean,” Tooru replied.

“Goodo!” He squeezed the present, no doubt discovering it was hard. “This is heavy, but ...” He shook it. “It rattles.”

“Open it, Sug,” Daichi laughed.

He slid his thumb under the paper, ripping it open like a kid and then his smile became even brighter, and his laugh gurgled through the apartment. “Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour BEAAAAAANS!” he shouted, holding the jar of jellybeans high in the air. “Ahhh, Oikawa-san, thank you very, very veryyyyyy much.”

“You’re welcome.” Casting a side-glance at Sawamura, he lowered his lips to Suga’s cheek, “Koushi-chan.”

Sawamura didn’t flinch, but clapped Tooru on the back. “You’re a braver man than I am, Oikawa. Look, food’s in the kitchen, drink is in sitting room – or the ‘cushion room’ as Suga’s designated it. Help yourself and unless you want Morisuke to kick you, don’t mess around with the playlist.”

 

It was eight thirty when his phone rang. In the middle of a conversation with Yaku about some boring ass textbook neither had got around to finishing, the tone rang out at the inopportune moment of the music conking out.

“I better sort this,” Yaku said, “or Kuroo will put some crap on. Take your call in my bedroom if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tooru replied. He pulled out his phone, switching the tone off. “No one important.”

_I said I’d text when I was close,_ he reasoned. _And I haven’t._

But alone, he couldn’t stop himself from checking who’d called, and that led to scrolling through the messages.

All from Makki.

**[Where are you?]**

**[Did you miss your train?]**

**[Ok. We’re waiting in the cafe for the next one]**

**[Oikawa!  Call uS!!!!]**

But the call had been from Mattsun, and as the phone beeped again, he lifted it to his ear.

“Oikawa, if you’re there, pick up! We waited at the station for two trains and you weren’t on them. If there’s been a problem, call, okay?”

_There is a problem,_ he thought. _The three of you lying to me._

“Looking pissed off there. Wanna drink?” Kuroo said, holding two glasses of the very dubious purple fruit punch. “It’s got something fizzy in it. I know you don’t drink, but ... well, if you want one...”

“Sure,” he accepted it, taking a sip. It was fruity and tickled his tongue deliciously.

“So, why are you pissed off?”

“Someone’s annoying me. I’m ignoring them.”

It rang again. He could feel it vibrate in his hand and he saw Makki’s face light up in front of him.

“If you answer it, then it’ll get whoever it is off your back,” Kuroo said. He hiccupped a bit. “Or you give it to me, I’ll tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Won’t work. They’re persistent,” Tooru replied. He considered switching the phone right off, but just as it was about to click to answer phone, his thumb swiped the answer screen.

“Oikawa!”

Damn!

“Makki,” he drawled, rolling his eyes and talking a gulp of the punch. “What a surprise?”

“Where _are_ you? Are things okay?”

_“Pardon!”_ he said, in an exaggerated French accent. “Mmm, Kuroo-chan, this drink is delicious. _Delicieux!_ ”

“Uh, yeah,” Kuroo frowned at him, raising his palms and shrugging.

“Hilarious!” Tooru screeched. “Sorry, Makki, I can’t quite hear you.”

“You’re not coming then?”

“Coming where, Makki-chan?”

“Screw you!”

“You too! Byee!” he said. But Makki had already gone.

“Friend?”

“Former teammate, that’s all,” Tooru replied, pleased his voice was so calm. But his heart was thumping in his chest and he could feel a constriction in his throat. He slugged his drink. “This is good. Refreshing.”

 

As the light from outside faded, the party inside lit up. Suga, thoroughly enjoying himself, kicked off the dancing – not with Sawamura – but Morisuke. It was clearly a practised routine, both singing along to Taylor Swift, movements in time and then exhorting the others to join in. Tooru, watching from the sidelines, recognised a few of them from his psychology class – but another who stood watching was the girl he’d spoken to on the first day, but hadn’t approached since. With a niggle of guilt, he nodded to her when she looked his way, then inwardly grimaced when she wandered across.

“Oikawa-san!”

“Hi,” he said, smiling. He wracked his brain for her name, relieved when it sprang onto the tip of his tongue. “Fujita-san, are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes,” she said, but sounded dubious. “I saw you earlier, but you were talking to that guy with the funny hair, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“That’s Kuroo,” Oikawa replied. “We play volleyball together. He shares with Suga and Yaku.”

“And the other guy?” Her voice lilted upwards. “Suga’s friend from Miyagi.”

“Sawamura.” He narrowed his eyes, recognising her questions for what they were, not polite chat, but a need to know.

_But know what?_ he wondered. _Are you interested in one of them?_

“Yes,” she said, a touch breathily. “Sawamura. He’s ... um ... a law student, isn’t he?”

“He is. I play volleyball with him, too.” He hiccupped softly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, then glugged more of his drink.

“Is that his girlfriend?” she asked.

“Who?” he asked, careful not to show his surprise.

“The girl with glasses –” she said it dismissively, “- he’s  talking to. I’ve not seen her around before now.”

He swivelled around, following her gaze to see Sawamura leaning against the doorframe and chatting to a girl. She was familiar, and a minute pang touched him before he remembered his mantra _Tokyo, not Miyagi._

 “I’m not sure they’re together,” he said neutrally. “She’s from Miyagi, too. Used to be their manager.”

“Volleyball, again.” She laughed and shook her head. “Does it rule everything in your lives?”

“It does for me. I want to be a pro,” Tooru replied. “Is that so wrong?”

“What happens if you get injured?”

He rolled his eyes, deliberately staring her out. She had deep dark eyes, almost black, and her hair shone in the lamplight. A very pretty girl, and gazing up at him. If he moved his head down, he could touch her cheek with his lips.

(Had she moved closer?)

“The world implodes!” he cried, and raised his hand to his forehead, faking a melodramatic swoon.

“But really?” she quizzed.

Shrugging, Tooru finished his drink. The conversation was reminiscent of being with his parents, far too serious, and not something he wanted to dwell on. Not now. Not yet. He’d spent too many nights plundering this vein and coming up with no solution.

“What’s your backup?” she persisted.

“My dazzling personality,” he snapped, and finishing his drink, he gave her a slight bow. “And my amazing dance skills. Are you joining me, Fujita-san?”

“I’d rather talk,” she said. “The kitchen’s quieter.”

The cue was there, but she looked so earnest and his head had begun to fizz with the drink. It was a party. It was Suga-chan’s party, and he was still dancing, laughing through the odd misstep.

Utterly adorable.

“Maybe later, Fujita-san,” he cooed. “I’m going to have a dance and then another drink.”

And even though Suga’s winks were all to Sawamura, Tooru didn’t care. He stepped forwards, touched Suga on the arm, and grinned.  “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” Suga yelled, nodding his head long after he’d finished agreeing.”Daichi says I’ll suffer tomorrow, but LOYO!” He giggled. “I mean YOLO ...I think.”

“I recognised your manager. Fujita-san wants to know if she’s Sawamura’s girlfriend.”

“HA!” His shoulders shook. “My evil plan is working!”

“Evil plan?”

Suga swayed as the music came to a halt, too long a break before it segued into the next song. Bending his head towards Suga, Tooru listened as he whispered, “Lots of girls think Daichi’s very hot. I don’t blame them, but ... uh ... short of full on snogging me, there’s not much he can do. He’s very polite.”

“He’s very ‘sensible’.”

Suga’s laughter pealed around the room, causing everyone to jerk their head their way. He leant closer, lifting his lips to Oikawa’s ear. “He’s not that sensible in the sack,” he hissed.

The music started again, and despite it being a slower tune, Suga span away, colliding into another dancer. Apologising, he staggered backwards, and just as he was about to fall, just before Tooru was about to save him, a hand plucked his shirt, setting him upright.

“Maybe have some food, Sug?” Sawamura said. “Come and talk to Shimizu and Shirofuku-san.”

“A very, very good idea, my Captain!” Suga replied, he giggled as he placed his arm around Daichi’s neck, then he remembered where they were and who was around them and his face slipped into a mask. “Sorry, I promise I’ll be good.”

“I know.” Sawamura raised his eyebrows, but he was good-natured, not scolding in the slightest, more resigned, Tooru thought.

_He cares very much._

He watched as Suga recovered himself enough to shrug off Sawamura’s arm as he wended his way towards Shimizu-san. Her eyes lit up seeing him, and she smiled a very gentle smile, proffering her cheek for the smallest of kisses.

“You have an admirer, Oikawa-kun,” said a voice from behind.

He half turned, recognising Konoha, and laughed – hoping he didn’t sound bitter. “He’s already taken.”

“Ha, I didn’t mean Sugawara,” he retorted. “The girl you were talking to earlier, she’s been watching you like a hawk.”

“Ahh, yes, she’s pretty. But ... uh ... she wants a deep and meaningful about volleyball not being a serious career. And ...” He twisted around as the song finished and another began. “Tonight I’m only after fun.”

“That right?”

“Mmm. I can introduce you if you like, Konoha-chan. Or ...” He smiled, licking his upper lip, determined to undermine the sly look Konoha was giving him, to get under his skin and wipe away that self-assurance. “We could go and ‘talk’ somewhere.”

“Talk?” Konoha raised his eyebrows, and smoothed the bangs off his forehead. They flopped back down.

“You’re very attractive,” Tooru whispered, and reached out to touch his hair, wanting to feel the dark blonde locks in his fingers, hoping to disconcert the boy in front of him. It would help if they ever played against each other, he reasoned, if he could upset his equilibrium.

“So are you,” Konoha murmured, tilting his head up to blow in Tooru’s ear.

“What are you -”

“Responding to you in kind,” he said, and laughed as he ran his fingers through Tooru’s hair. “You shouldn’t start games you can’t shut out, Oikawa-kun.”

His thumb smudged Tooru’s cheek.

“B-but ... you’re straight.”

“What gave you that impression?” He stopped moving his thumb, the pressure now light as a feather, and smiled. “If you were trying to disturb me, Oikawa, it didn’t work. If you want some fun, then ...”

“Here? What about-”

“Not my college. Why would I care?”

His eyes were amber, narrow, with dark lashes that swept up in a slant. His lips were thin, but quirked beguilingly. Tooru sucked in a breath until it stuck right back in his throat.

_Oh fuck!_

 

* * *

 

I have a story called [Riptide](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3429008/chapters/7513889) which will explain a little more about Bokuto and Oikawa. It's actually an Akaashi/Ennoshita fic, but it takes place in the first few weeks of this story and features this bunch. 


	20. Stormclouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime's birthday. Wouldn't it be nice if ...

His phone hadn’t beeped, but Hajime still reached across to check. No messages. Nothing remotely friendly flashed across his screen. And although it was barely seven in the morning, that wouldn’t have stopped _him_ calling.

_What did I expect?_

His room was next to the kitchen, and he could hear his dad pottering around, the clink of china and then the unmistakable sound of a plugged in kettle. Last year, Hajime’s mum had been ill and the birthday breakfast the Chibis had attempted to cook for him had been salvaged by the appearance of Oikawa and a large bag of pastries.  This year, his mum, while not ill, had been overdoing things in the run up to the move, so Hajime’s dad had taken over, at least for the weekend chiding her to rest.

Getting up, Hajime wandered out to join his dad, greeting him with a half scowl as befitted someone who’d only just woken.

“Ah, the birthday boy. Want one?”

Nodding at the proffered cup, Hajime sat at the table.

“What time are your friends coming over?”

“Uh, sevenish.”

“Okay, well, we’ll get out of your hair before then, unless your mum’s too tired.” His dad shot him a smile. “Don’t worry, she’s absolutely fine. Just far too stubborn for her own good.”

“You don’t have to leave. Not if she’s not up to it.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that, or she’ll see it as a challenge.” The kettle clicked and he poured a stream of boiling water into the teapot, swirling it around before emptying it into the sink.

His mum would probably have dunked three tea bags into mugs by now, but his dad liked the whole process behind making tea, the water at optimum temperature, pouring into a warmed pot and loose-leaf tea for the brew.

“We’ll be back at eleven unless someone flags,” his dad was saying. “Who’s staying over?”

“Both of them. I’ve got mats in my room.”

“Both?”

“Oh ... uh ... Mattsun and Makki.”

There was a pause.

“No Tooru?”

“Nope.”

His dad stirred the tea, the spoon chinking against the china lip. “He must be busy.”

“He must.”

“Are you still not talking?” His dad sighed. “Hajime, he’s your best friend.”

“It’s fine. He’s busy. I’ve gotta knuckle down, too. And, y’know, without volleyball and Seijou there’s ... there’s maybe not a lot we have in common.”

His dad stared at him. His mouth opened as if he was about to speak, but then his natural reserve leapt into the space between them. If his mum had been there, she’d have wanted answers, but then if his mum had been there, Hajime wouldn’t have said as much as he had.

“You didn’t want to invite anyone from Karasuno, then?” he asked instead.

“Nah, not much point. The one guy I talk to is their volleyball captain, so that could be awkward.” He shrugged. “I’m okay, Dad, really. Although ...”

“What?”

He plastered a big scowl on his face, glowering. “Where’s my present?”

“Not without your mother. She’ll kill me.”

***

The new apartment was sparse, with unpacked boxes stacked in rooms, and only the bare essential furniture laid out. They’d decluttered before moving, his mum becoming unnecessarily energetic, making swift decisions over what to keep and what to discard. With his dad joking that it must be early nesting, Hajime had managed to salvage the large beanbags she’d wanted to throw out by promising he’d get rid of them after his birthday was over.

True to their word, his parents had taken the Chibis out – movies and pizza – so with some DVDs, food ready to be heated, drinks and music, Hajime plumped cushions, ruffled his hair, and wondered again about the shirt he was wearing.

Feeling his phone vibrate, he pulled it out to see Makki’s message flashing on his screen. **[Shit traffic. Been delayed. Will get to you around 8 – we hope. Want us to bring anything?]**

**[Don’t worry. It’s all sorted. Get here when you can.]**

He wandered across to his desk, switching on the laptop his parents had bought him. With no internet yet, there was little he could do to distract himself, but it did mean he could concentrate on his homework. Or, alternatively, as his mum wasn’t around policing him, he could work on a practise schedule for the girls.

They were coming along quite nicely. Their blocks were tighter, and serves more accurate. There was more cohesion around them now as a team, but it was odd watching them and seeing a complete lack of confidence. At Seijou on his first day, as soon as he’d walked into the gym, the team quality was winners. There was a belief in everything they could do. Arrogance, but not misplaced. They were confident they could blend and work as a team. And they’d been a success in everything except that final hurdle. Seijou were a powerhouse, not a team anyone would ever take lightly. Karasuno Boys, from what he remembered before he’d played them, had had a name, and weren’t thought of as weak, exactly, just not one of the stronger teams. But the girls’ team had made no headway anywhere.  He’d scrolled through past results, past tournaments and their history was all a loss in the first match. Occasionally it had been close, but even in the glory days of Karasuno (the time before last when they first went to Nationals) the girls’ team had been negligible.

Basketball. Bloody basketball – it was the same at Seijou – always taking the plaudits. Although under Oikawa, volleyball had acquired a glamour. Sighing to himself, he started to think about the new Seijou team and whether they were coping. Yahaba would be a good captain. His pleasing looks and floofy hair belied the spine of steel. Would Kyoutani stick to practise? Had the glimpse of victory inspired him to remain?

Guilt bit his tongue. He’d promised to stay in touch, knowing his kouhais wouldn’t dream of contacting him first, he should have messaged them. But, what use would he be now? A non-playing former teammate, now at a rival school. An embarrassment.

It had gone eight thirty when he heard the doorbell. He slowed, fixing a mock scowl, ‘cause they were late, on his face and tried to quell the unexplained erratic thump of his heart.

Makki stood there, carrier bag in hand. Mattsun was just behind, twirling a set of car keys and not lounging against the doorframe as he usually did.

“Hey, sorry we’re late,” they said in unison.

“Traffic,” Mattsun explained and then dangled his keys in front of Hajime. “And I was waiting for Dad so he could tell me which car I was allowed to use. Then, Taka needed to stop off to buy-”

“It’s not much,” Makki said, thrusting the carrier bag at him.

He peered in the bag. Makki seemed to have raided a sweet shop. “This is ... uh ...”

_Unusual,_ he wanted to say because the previous years, they’d always bought him volleyball stuff, but this was stuffed with everything they’d denied themselves when in intense training. He peered closer, then pulled out a box at the bottom. “Chocolate dinosaurs.”

“Godzillas!” Makki remonstrated.

“Nah, they’re dinosaurs.”

“So, can we come in?” Mattsun asked.

“Sure.” He smiled wider, genuinely pleased to see them, then stepped back. “Welcome to the new Iwaizumi home. Currently quiet and free of any Iwaizumis except for me.”

“Good, good. When are they back?” Mattsun asked.

“No idea. Eleven ish, maybe.”

“So ... uh ...” He smiled a little and waggled his eyebrows. And Hajime tried to act cool, tried to skew his expression to look as if he were going to be surprised. He waited.

Mattsun stopped twirling his keys and crouched down. For the first time, Hajime saw he too had a bag, one that clanked when he picked it up. “I brought beer,” he said, a little too casually. “Will your parents be okay with that?”

And it was only at that precise moment, he realised what he’d been waiting for. What he’d been hoping for. And how dumb he’d been. Mattsun bending down had not only revealed no one was hiding, but the contents of the bag had confirmed what Hajime now knew.

Mattsun wouldn’t have bothered with beer if Oikawa been around, not unless he’d wanted to listen to the hour long rant he’d subject them to.

Blinking, Hajime looked away from the bag, and straight at them both.  He took a breath. “They won’t mind.”

They were eating food (a delicious katsu curry), halfway through the first film (James Bond – a relief from all the sci-fi) when Hajime disappeared to the toilet. His head a little swimmy from the beer, he leant over the sink and splashed cold water on his face. The disappointment ached at him, but it was dull not sharp and not that much different from the ache he carried round with him most of the time. Expectation was the killer. Maybe this was for the best. Given time, Oikawa would come round. Given time ... and two months wasn’t long enough.

Once he’d got some games under his belt, fitted properly into a team, he’d be back in touch.

“Where the fuck are you?”

He heard the raised voice and then a quick hush. Slowly, carefully, Hajime opened the bathroom door. They weren’t talking to him, and it was only Makki’s voice raised, so he clearly wasn’t rowing with Mattsun. 

“Screw you!” he heard Makki seethe, just as Hajime slipped into the hallway. He could see them in the lounge now, the film still playing. Makki had got to his feet, finishing his beer.

“Where is he?” Mattsun demanded.

“A fucking party from the sound of it.”

“Did he give a reason?”

“Course he bloody didn’t.” He wiped one hand over his face, puffing out his lips as he sighed. “How the fuck did we get involved in all this?”

“So ...” Mattsun leant forwards, picking up his beer and taking a long sip. “Are we telling him?”

_I’m not hiding here._ He stepped forwards, sticking his hands in his pockets and wandered back in the room.  “You might as well,” he said wryly. “I’ve heard some of it. You thought Oikawa was coming right?”

“Uh...” they exchanged looks, then straightening his shoulders, Makki gave a sigh. “He said he might. I was texting and he was talking about getting the train, but he wasn’t at the station.”

“We waited,” Mattsun butted in. “Texted him. Called but he didn’t answer.”

“He never does if he thinks you’re gonna shout,” Hajime murmured. He shrugged. “Didn’t expect him to make the trip. Not from Tokyo.”

“Yeah, he’s ...uh ... working hard,” Makki lied.

“You were getting pretty angry at him for working,” Hajime queried, deciding not to mention he’d heard Oikawa was at a party.

“Because he didn’t let me know,” Makki replied smoothly. “Sorry, we kind of wanted it to be a surprise. Was his idea, but ... um ... well, we all know what he’s like.”

“Forgetful, dozy plonker!” Mattsun added and smiled widely, far too widely. “Twat.”

“Probably worried we’d make him buy us ramen,” Makki laughed, nodding his head a little too enthusiastically. “Tight git.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect him,” Hajime said. Making a concerted effort not to frown, he flumped back in the beanbag, and leant across for another can. “Like, why would he?”

He waited for Makki to crack a joke, for Mattsun to snort derisively, but neither of them was smiling now.

“Cause it’s you guys,” Makki said. “Like ... I thought he’d make the effort. You’ve been friends for ten years.”

_Eleven._ “Meh, time to do something different, then.” He cracked open the can, took a slurp and tried not to splutter as the bubbles crashed down his throat. “Have another drink. Mum and Dad won’t be back for ages.”

Bond had leapt onto the back of a train, forcing open the door to try to catch the bad guy. An old couple on the platform cracked a joke, easing the tension for the audience before the violence they knew was about to happen kicked off.

He raised his bottle, a soft hiccup bubbled from the back of his throat. “New era, right?”

“Has he been in touch though?” Makki persisted, crouching back on one of the beanbags, his eyes on Hajime’s face and not the TV.

“Yeah, course,” Hajime muttered. “I reminded him I was his senpai for the next forty days. Same old same old, right?”

He didn’t know if they believed him, but just like his dad, they weren’t going to press. Deep and meaningfuls were not any of their style. And Bond was racing through the carriage demanding their attention.

 

His mum’s lips had pursed on seeing the beer cans. She raised her eyebrows, clearly about to say something, but on calculating they’d probably had only two cans each, she waved her hands in the air, then smiled at his friends.

“Did you have a good evening?” she asked, reaching across to an empty bowl.

“Yup,” Hajime said, getting to the bowl before her. “We will clear up. Promise.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, Iwaizumi-san,” Makki agreed. He glanced sideways at her, flushing a little. “Please don’t put yourself out. Not now ... you’re ... um ...”

Mattsun was smirking as he got to his feet. He bowed to Hajime’s mum, then began picking up the plates. There was no fuzziness in his movements or any slurring in his words when he offered to make her a cup of coffee.

“Issei-kun, you’re a charmer, but caffeine will keep me awake. Although this little one’s already active enough for that. She laughed and then snatched up Hajime’s hand, placing it on her stomach. “Can you feel that. The baby wants to wish her big brother a happy birthday.”

At that Makki nudged Mattsun with his foot and together they collected the rubbish and scooted off to the kitchen.

A soft push against his palm. His mum had said years before that the twins movements had started off like bubbles popping, turning to a couple of karate kids. He’d been seven and scared at what grew inside her, unable to comprehend how it would come out. Not that he particularly wanted to think about that now, but it was astonishing to think that in only a few months an actual live person would be viewing the world. A brother or –

“Hey, you said ‘her’!”

“Ooops.” She giggled then linked her fingers in his, staring Hajime in the eyes. “We weren’t going to tell anyone, but your brothers are so convinced they’re about to have a brother, it might be nice to have someone rooting for the other side.”

 “Do you mind?” she asked.

“Why would I?”

“Before the twins were born, you told me you _only_ wanted brothers.”

On cue, he heard Koji yell, clearly delighted to see his friends, and Makki growling out a ‘Sabu-chaaaan!’ followed by yelps and laughter as he no doubt subjected him to tickling.

“A little sister will be just fine,” he whispered. “Gotta be quieter than the rest of us.”

“HA!”  His mum tipped back her head and gave a hearty belly laugh. “Just wait. This little girl is going to have to shout loud to be heard. And she will.”

Getting up, she ruffled his hair.  “Don’t stay up too long, and no more alcohol, okay?”

About to tell her there wasn’t anymore and to offer an apology, he was interrupted by Koji shrieking and running into the room. His face wreathed in smiles, he stopped abruptly, puzzled. “Niisan, niisan! Guess who we saw?”

“Uh ...Luke Skywalker? Charmander?”

“No, silly,” Saburo scorned following close behind.

“Sugawara-san!” Koji said, excited. “She was going to the movies. Didn’t see the same film as us though.”

“Ah, yes, pretty girl,” his mum said, smiling at him. “And she asked after you.”

_Fuck, has she mentioned I’m the coach? Hell, did I tell her to keep it quiet?_

 “Uh ... really?” he replied, aware he was blushing and his voice had croaked.

“Yes, very pretty,” his mum teased. She placed her hands on the twins shoulders, steering them out the door. “Teeth and bed, Chibi-chans.”

“Don’t call us that!” Sabu complained.

“We want to stay up.”

“No. Leave your brother alone. He wants time with his friends.” She turned and gave them all a wink. “Lots to talk about, I bet.”

 

“Pretty, huh?”

He gave an on off smile to Mattsun, then jerked his head to Makki. “He’s met her.”

“She is,” Makki replied, smirking. “Looks a lot like her brother.”

“Ahh,” Mattsun placed his hand over his heart and feigned a swoon. “And she was asking after you?”

 “What is this?” Hajime retorted and held his hands over his ears.

“And you blushed,” Makki came in, much more chirpy.

“Because if my mum finds out I’m coaching, she’ll skin me alive.” He grabbed the bag of sweets, helping himself to a chocolate dinosaur and snapped its tail off. “Besides, you guys know she’s not exactly my type.”

“What about this new era?”

“What!”

“And you have dated girls before.”

“Yeah, but  –” _Tooru._ “ - I’m not interested. She’s fifteen and my mum doesn’t mean it. I have no time at all for a girlfriend, boyfriend or any other bloody friends.”

“Including us!” Makki replied, touching his hand to his heart. “I’m hurt, Hajime-chan, truly hurt.”

“Especially you two,” he snarled back. “Shit stirrers, the pair of you.”

Makki snorted, but Mattsun said nothing. He wasn’t smiling but looking thoughtful as he picked up a handful of sweets, sorting the reds from the greens before throwing each into the air to catch in his mouth.

Later in his room, as the clock ticked past midnight and it was no longer the tenth, Hajime reflected on the evening. With the absence of an internet connection, they were watching a final DVD on the laptop his parents had given him, all sprawled on the floor. And he was struck then at how fortunate he was. Makki and Mattsun now spent a large part of their time apart, meaning any contact was precious, but they’d willingly given up possible privacy to spend time with him. And he’d never appreciated just how good it was to have _other_ friends. He shifted a little on his mat, catching sight of the fact that their fingers had linked, and felt again a glow of warmth towards them.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” he muttered.

“Your mum’s katsu curry makes it all worthwhile,” Makki replied, and stifled a yawn. “Sorry, I’m shattered. College is knackering me out.”

“Try working for a living.” Mattsun said. His tone was fond, though. “Honest physical labour!”

“Swanning around in flash cars,” Hajime countered, and laughed.

“Yeah, thank the gods I don’t have it hard like you guys,” Mattsun continued, swiping at Hajime’s head. “One of you cooking cream puffs and the other sitting on his ass all day in class or watching girls play volleyball.” He yawned exaggeratedly. “Must be a real chore!”

“You forgot me taking on the basketball team,” Hajime said, keeping it light. But the gap between where he was now and where his friends – all his friends – were, was palpable and growing.

“Fight the good fight,” Makki said, sounding sleepy. “Basketball is for shitheads.”

But Mattsun shifted a little, looking across at Hajime. “Next year you’ll be advising us on our rights, laying down the law, and driving us crazy from Tokyo.”

_Law ... yeah._

_Next year._

Unused to alcohol, he slept deeply for a few hours, but waking at four with a raging thirst and pain in his head, Hajime narrowly avoided stumbling over his friends as he sought the kitchen and water. He gulped down a pint then stared out the window, seeing his reflection, white and ghostlike. Stepping back to the comfort of shadows, he noticed his phone on the table - left there when they’d cleared up – and hating himself, he checked again.

But there was no new message.

Maybe what he’d said to his dad was true, that without Seijou, without volleyball, they really did have nothing in common.

***

“Fantastic breakfast, Iwaizumi-san!” Mattsun cheered the next morning. He rubbed his tummy and smiled crookedly up at Hajime’s mum. She reciprocated and cuffed his ear before setting down two glasses of milk for the twins.

“You’re very welcome, Issei-kun. It’s been a pleasure having you both here and seeing my son lighten up a little bit.” She paused behind Makki. “How’s college going, Takahiro-kun?”

“Uh...” He swallowed whatever it was in his mouth, tried to speak, then sipped some water. “It’s good, thank you,” he managed finally.

“Sendai, yes? Do you like it?”

“Mmm, it’s good.” His voice was surer now. “It was the best course for me and ... well ... I’m far enough away that I don’t live at home, but it’s close enough that I can come back when I have to.”

“Oi, that makes last night sound like a chore!”

“It was. Your film choices were shi -... uh ... rubbish,” he said, eyeing the twins.

“I said you should have had Star Trek,” Saburo interrupted.

“Is that why Tooru-san didn’t come?” Koji asked, sucking on his lower lips as he considered.

“Hush,” their mum chided. “Tooru-kun’s in Tokyo now, Koji. He can’t come back all the time.” She ruffled Hajime’s hair, continuing, “Next year, you’ll be there, too and we’ll have to make the trip, won’t we?”

“Yeah.” His tea was a little too cold for him to enjoy now, but he swallowed it down in one gulp, pretending that was the reason his stomach had begun to churn.

“Any plans for today, lads?”

It was Mattsun who answered his dad. With barely a beat, he shook his head, then explained (adding a little sorrowfully) that he had to return the car. 

“And I should drop in and see my parents,” Makki added.

“A run,” Hajime rasped. Then he turned to his dad. “Can I take the car? I’d like to go to the beach.”

His dad shook his head, and began an explanation along the lines of furniture shopping. “You’ll have to cycle or take the bus instead. Sorry.” 

“I’ll drop you off,” Mattsun offered and grinned. “Not picking you up, though. Don’t want sand and sweat on the upholstery.”

“You sound like a car salesman already, Issei-kun,” his mum joined in. “Don’t stay out too long, Hajime. You have homework.”

_For a book I studied last year and aced the test on._ “Yeah, I know,” he replied. “It’s under control, Mum, don’t worry.”

Her look belied the smile. The slight furrowing between her brows told him she was still concerned, his failure from last year worried at her, and she would do everything she could to ensure he didn’t slip again. And then from the other side, his dad touched him on the shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but the smile in his eyes spoke of support and not disappointment.

 

It was cloudy when he set out, perfect weather for a run, especially as the clouds and the possible prospect of rain would keep away the crowds. Waving goodbye to Mattsun, Hajime zipped up his hoodie and started to stretch.

His head was hurting a little, and somewhere inside he could hear a voice chipping at him for drinking. ‘ _Not good for you, Iwa-chan!’_ it snapped. _‘Not for an athlete.’_

“I’m not an athlete,” he growled as he set off.

Running was the way he cleared his thoughts, a way the solution to whatever was bothering him would appear through the mist in his mind. Waves crashed against the shore, wind rippling at the sea foam, and the salt air filled his lungs, but today he felt more muddled, more frustrated than before. It was probably the drink, he told himself, but there was another memory keeping his feet moving.

He’d always been fast. It was the one thing he could always do better than Oikawa, but the last time they’d run together, he’d lost his pace, and he’d not pushed himself properly since. Perhaps he was settling? Maybe this was for the best. But what if the gamble came off? What if he made it Tokyo and to the college team? It wouldn’t be the same, but was difference so bad?

We’d evolve, he thought and then he remembered that spike, Oikawa’s toss from beyond the edge of the court, perfectly placed, and his leap for the ball, the heft of it in his palm and the power as he slammed it down.

There was still an if only, there were too many, but ... Sawamura had saved. Sawamura had won that time, and Hajime had to stop beating himself up about a ‘what could have been’.

It wasn’t Sawamura’s fault things had gone pear shaped. And ...

_It’s not mine either. Games run on chance. Swings and roundabouts. And I have to stop thinking that it’s the end of everything._

“But fuck it all I want to play!” he roared to gulls.

He came to a halt by the rocks and turned back to run towards the jetty. Last February, Oikawa had been there waiting for him, but this time there was no one.

_Maybe it’s up to me to break the silence._ Resolved, he paused and leant against the crag. His phone was in his back pocket and before he changed his mind, he pulled it out to send a quick text. He’d ignore the fact he knew Oikawa had been on his way, instead he’d tell the well worn joke, demanding to be called senpai for the next forty days.

A facebook notification flashed on his screen – several from what he could see – from Seijou members, old classmates, even a girl he’d once dated, all wishing him a happy birthday, and he checked them out, gathering strength before he Tackled Oikawa.

_‘Oikawa Tooru was tagged in a photo’_

He clicked, his sense of curiosity overcoming the feeling of dread now pooling in his stomach. He’d been at a party, that much Hajime knew, and clicking on the first notification, seeing the subject matter, his chest tightened. Sugawara Koushi stared out at him, beaming away, his eyes a little unfocused. Behind him, Sawamura’s arm was placed across his shoulders, a gesture that could be termed casual unless you suspected, but the fond smile on Sawamura’s face was the giveaway. Oikawa stood a body’s breadth away, reaching across to give bunny ears to Sugawara, a dumb smirk on his face.

And Hajime found he could breathe again. He scrolled further down, his fears assuaged.

‘Suga and Morisuke ‘dancing’,” Sawamura had typed, adding a smiley crying face.

Hajime grinned, then zoomed in closer, wondering where Oikawa was because he was no stranger to the dance floor, usually leading by example.

He could see the black galaxy tee shirt, the one Tooru loved to wear, that the rest of them took the piss out of. And his hair, the same as always, falling perfectly across his cheeks. The profile was unmistakable.

He was laughing with someone – blond and in profile too, smiling up at Tooru.

_It’s nothing._

But he scrolled down and on to another picture, Sugawara still in the foreground, laughing at something (Hajime didn’t read the words) and Oikawa was with the same boy.

His hand on Oikawa’s cheek, a thumb on lips.

Despite the sun now breaking through the clouds, and the heat of his body from the run, Hajime froze. His fingers numbed, throat tightened and the top half of his head felt as if he was somewhere else. A distant sky, watching another person react as the floor of their world sank under their feet.

**[Iwa-chan!]**

So caught up, he missed the vibration of his phone.

**[Sorry I missed your birthday]**

He wanted to type a ‘fuck you’, needed to call him right away and rage at him, demand to know what was happening, to shout and yell and use every curse word under the sun and the moon to vent his anger, his fury, his utter humiliation. To demand to know what was going on.

But his vision blurred, the face in the picture merging into the other pixels until all he could see was brown hair and blond, so close, so close.

Another photo, Oikawa’s face tilted down towards the stranger’s.

But clearly not a stranger to Oikawa. 

His fingers tingled back to life, gripping the case of his phone. His instinct when hurt was feral, a wounded animal lashing out. But there was nothing to say, no one he could possibly wound anymore except himself.

**[Happy Birthday for yesterday.]**

“Fuck you,” he screamed, and then with every remnant of strength he could muster, he swung his arm right back as if holding a baseball bat and about to smash the ball.

But instead of the home run to the cheering crowd, it was a petulant band of seagulls screeching indignation to the air as he flung his phone into the sea.


	21. Cold Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after for Tooru ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I really did leave you all on a cliff, and I feel very guilty, but here's Chapter 21 for you.

The beach was cold, the thin jacket no proof against the wind whipping around him, but he didn’t move, intent on watching the figure running towards him.

As fast as the wind. Or he would be. Even from the jetty, Tooru could see he’d lost his pace, but his legs were strong and the effort he expounded would soon pay off.

_And we’ll play together._

“Oy!”

“Huh?”

“You hit me.”

Tooru opened his eyes. Or tried to. Something was pounding at his skull and he knew if he unstuck his eyelids, the sun already streaming through the window would send mini daggers into his brain.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and turned over.

He tried to return to the beach, but he was awake now, the discomfort of his surroundings digging at his subconscious, as surely as the hard floor now bruising his hip.

_I’m not at home._

His mind cleared.

_I stayed at Bokuto’s._

He unstuck one eye. Bokuto was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying very quietly to put on a pair of trainers. Tooru lifted his hand, waving pathetically.

“I feel awful,” he moaned.

“You were kinda drunk,” Bokuto replied, not sounding judgemental, but confused. “I got water. Or there’s some energy drink left. Guys in halls swear by it.”

“Can’t move. Everything hurts. Is this normal?”

“Yeah,” rasped a voice. “It’s called a hangover.”

_Konoha._

“Bokkun, are you seriously going out now?”

“Sure. Best time of the day.” He bent down, shaking Tooru by the shoulder. “Coming with me? I got spare kit and trainers.”

Tooru shook his head. It hurt too much. “No,” he complained. “Let me die here. I’m very ill. I might need a doctor.”

“Vitamin C, water, chocolate and a bowl of rice and you’ll be good.” Konoha from the other side might be yawning but he sounded far too chirpy.

“And you’re an expert are you?” snapped Tooru, feeling irritation prickle his skin.

“Older brother and sister – I’ve seen the suffering,” Konoha replied cheerily. “Don’t look so worried, Koutarou, he’s not going to die. Go for your run.”

Wincing as Bokuto clumped over him, then closed the door (not quietly) Tooru pulled the blanket around his shoulders, hoping Konoha would take the hint and stop talking.

But he didn’t. Shifting to Bokuto’s bed, he reached for the remote control and switched on the small TV Bokuto had balanced precariously on a chair.

“I need to sleep.”

“Have something to drink. And I’ve got some painkillers somewhere for that head.”

Maybe he was an angel.

“Thank you,” Tooru said, then deciding to move, he shuffled on his side and reached up to the desk where Bokuto had left a glass of water.

“No, thank _you_ for last night,” Konoha continued.

“Uh ...”

He’d heard of memory loss, drunk blackouts, but ... _Really?_ He peered blearily across the room, Konoha was gazing at him, a soppy expression on his face, but then his lips twitched.

“I’m kidding you.”

“I know!”

“Nearly had you, didn’t I?  Wasn’t there a little moment there where you wondered what we’d done?”

“Not at all.”

 

He’d pulled away, burbling apologies and grabbing another drink. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” he’d muttered, aghast. “I’m with someone.”

“And he or she doesn’t mind you propositioning acquaintances, then?”

“Not here,” Tooru had mumbled. “And it’s a He. My ... _boyfriend_ is back in Miyagi.”

He remembered wondering if Konoha would snarl at him, whether he’d take the piss, or shove him away, but instead he’d taken a sip of a drink, looked around the room, before saying, “Going to be a good game when we finally play against each other, don’t you think?”

And they’d talked after that, chat more about volleyball, drifting into TV shows and even music. Tooru had listened more than talked, trying to distract himself from the one thought pervading his mind.

_I miss you._

 

“Painkillers are in my bag,” Konoha said, looking up from the TV. “Condoms too, but I’m guessing you don’t want -”

“Stop!” He fumbled in the sidepocket, pulling out a strip of tablets, then chugged them down with the water.

“Well, Bokuto’s gone and -”

“Do you wind everyone up?”

“Only when I’m bored,” Konoha replied. “This show is shite. You’ll feel better soon.”

“I’m never drinking again.”

“Yeah, my sis says that.”

“I mean it. I don’t drink.”

“Mmm, you kept saying that last night. Like, you really did not _stop_ talking about how you never drank, and how much _fun_ it was.”

Tooru shuddered.  “Not worth it. Anyway, thank you for ... uh ... not ...”

“Snogging you?” he flipped his hand in the air. “Forget it. You have no idea what you’re missing, and now you never will.”

“So kind.”

“I am.” Switching the TV off, he snorted, then stretched his arms. “Do you want to get some fresh air? Will probably help.”

Finding the fug in the room nauseating, Tooru agreed and after finding shoes and jackets, they headed for the outside.

One of Bokuto’s hall mates was coming out of the kitchen. “You're Bokuto’s friends, right?”

“Yup.”

“You lot were lively coming back. Good party, right?”

“Not bad. Sorry if we disturbed you,” Konoha said. He took a step away, his fingers tugging on Tooru’s sleeve.

“He had to carry you,” the man said, his face leering up close to Tooru. “Must have had a skinful, right?”

His breath smelt of coffee and stale nights. Tooru felt a wave of nausea surging from his stomach and backed away into the wall. The student laughed. “All over him, you were. Thought you were like ... gay or something, ‘til I realised you were shitfaced.” He grinned again, exposing yellowing teeth.

“So what if I was?” Tooru asked.

“Don’t engage,” Konoha whispered.

“Shitfaced?” the man shrugged. “I don’t mind. Good on ya, mate.”

“No, so what if I’m gay?” Tooru said instead. His head was fuzzy, belligerence overcoming his usual good manners and diplomacy.

“And Bokuto let’s you stay over.” The man reeled away, as if Tooru had told him he had Ebola.

Laughing, Tooru linked his arm into Konoha’s. “Don’t worry, you’re really not my type, _right,_ ” he mocked.

He was grinning as they reached the outside, gulping in lungfuls of air and laughing in his head. Konoha had pulled away shrugging him off.

“Why are you in a strop, Kono-chan? They don’t know you. Last night you said it didn’t matter. And I hate bigots like that.”

“He looked mean enough to lash out, that’s all.”

“I can duck. Even this hungover, my reflexes are good.” There was a breath of wind in the air, and he zipped up his jacket as proof against it. “Right, where can I get chocolate and coffee?”

 

Ending up in one of the campus cafeterias, Tooru started to feel better halfway down his second glass of juice. Konoha was decent company, questioning him not only about volleyball but how he found Tokyo.

It was when he’d snapped a cookie in half, that he leant back in his chair, and asked, “So, this boyfriend, where is he now?”

“Miyagi,” Tooru murmured. He accepted the other half of the cookie, letting it melt on his tongue before continuing. “He’s retaking his exams, so he can come here next year.”

“Ah, I see. Does he play?”

“Mmm, wing spiker. Ace of my old team.”

“And it’s ... uh ... going well, yeah?”

“Yes, it’s –” He broke off. There was something about the way Konoha was looking at him, completely serious, with no grin in sight that caught him off guard. “Badly, actually. It was his birthday, and I missed it because of Suga’s party.”

It wasn’t quite true, but Konoha didn’t have to know everything.

“He’d understand you can’t go down all the time, surely?”

The coffee was strong; Tooru added more milk in an attempt to make it palatable.

“You could call him now.”

“We’ve argued,” Tooru admitted, the words coming out as if Konoha had dragged them. “He’s ... um ... whoa this is ... you won’t understand, but ... uh ...”

“Tell me,” Konoha suggested, his voice soft. “I’m a virtual stranger and sometimes that’s easier.”

“He’s now at a rival school,” Tooru replied, his face flushing. “Karasuno. He’s playing on that team. With their setter.”

“Ah.”

“You think I’m dumb.”

“Yeah, but ... uh ... I sort of understand.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen Kageyama play,” Konoha reminded him. “Look up genius in the dictionary and the definition is his name. Sometimes I couldn’t work out how the others kept up.” He paused to stir his coffee, clockwise then a counter turn.  “Look, this might not mean a lot, but I’m a wing-spiker, and I used to have to watch Bokuto getting all the attention, and now it’s Ushijima. So, yeah, I understand that’s kind of difficult for you.”

“It’s not difficult.” His insides were curdling. He could see Tobio’s oh-so-perfect toss, and Iwa-chan stretching for it, hitting the oh-so-perfect strike. Celebrating afterwards and Hajime would not only smile, he’d make Tobio smile too, and Oikawa had never seen that. He’d never been able to make the difference to his kouhai.

He hadn’t wanted to.

And he remembered their handshake after _that_ match, two hands clasping Tobio’s one, congratulations and a far better nature overcoming the crippling disappointment.

_You’ve always felt guilty, haven’t you, Iwa-chan?_

Konoha was waiting for him to finish.

Tooru heaved out a breath. “It’s impossible,” he said. “I begged him not to go there. And I know it’s petty and stupid and all ways childish, but there were other options, and he wouldn’t listen.”

“I used to get frustrated at Fukurodani,” Konoha said after a while. “Bokuto was _always_ going to be the Ace, but I kind of thought there was a place for me, and people would see that. But ... uh ... they made a second year vice captain, and I felt I’d been overlooked.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I got over it,” Konoha replied, not at all put off by Tooru’s sharpness. “Because it was putting me off my game. Akaashi-kun was actually far more valuable to our Ace, and once I stopped feeling fucking precious about my position, I became far more important to the team.”

“I still don’t understand why this has any bearing on my situation.”

Shrugging, Konoha pulled out some more yen from his pocket. “You’re not there anymore. It was last year’s game. I think you’re pissed because someone’s not doing what you want and your pride is hurt. I always think pride is kind of insignificant, to be honest, but maybe that’s why volleyball isn’t the be all and end all for me.”

_Insignificant pride._ Tooru stared at him, wondering if he’d possibly... No, it was Ushiwaka he’d spoken to, and the chance of that dense lug remembering his words was slim, let alone priming Konoha to repeat them _right_ at this moment.

“So I should forgive and forget?”

“Well, yeah, but, c’mon, what is there to forgive? You want him here next year, don’t you?” Tooru nodded. “So he’s gotta keep on playing. And it’s not _your_ team any more. I’m always going to support Fukurodani, but it’s like an uncle thing now. Watching them over Golden Week was great because I got to see everyone, but in two years time, I’ll know none of them.”

He got to his feet. “I need more coffee. Do you want something?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Except he wasn’t. The horror of last night, how close he’d come to taking one irrevocable step was closing in on him. He should call Makki. Apologise to Mattsun. But first.

**[Iwa-chan!]** His finger slipped and he sent it before he meant to. 

Okay, now what?

**[Sorry I missed your birthday.]**

Shall I make an excuse? Has Makki told him I didn’t make the journey? Would he have mentioned the party?

Breeze through it.

**[Happy Birthday for yesterday.]**

Nothing.

Konoha was taking a long time getting his coffee. Maybe he was being tactful.

**[Maybe I can come down next week instead?]**

His phone rang, and his heart leapt to his throat, but then plummeted. It wasn’t the tone he’d set for Iwa-chan, but his sister.

 “Tooru, you dumbass.”

“So kind. And how are you this morning, my precious sister?”

“A lot better than you, if Mum and Dad go on Facebook.”

“Pardon.”

“You’ve been tagged in photos. They’re not the best quality, but I can see you snogging someone.” She paused. “A _guy_. Untag yourself, idiot, before Mum disinherits you.”

“Oh ... hell. I ... Neesan, nothing happened.”

_And nothing I can’t talk myself out of._

“Look, I don’t care about that, but I do, for some reason care about whether Takeru has an uncle, so ring off, and get onto Facebook.” Her voice dropped. “I’m at home. Mum’s in the bathroom, but she’s bound to log on at some stage, okay, and she tracks your every move, you know that.”

“Thanks.” His hands trembled, fingers slippy with sweat as if he were about to step onto court. There was a laugh bubbling in his throat at how stupid this all was. His mum would see it as innocent, but no doubt his dad would go ballistic, and there was always the possibility he’d stop his allowance.

_Iwa-chan?_  No, he hated social media with a passion. Breathing in through his nostrils, Tooru flicked on the app, and quickly found the notifications. The one he was tagged in was mild, a group one, and he was about to laugh at his sister’s panic, but then he scrolled through the reel on Sawamura’s page, still laughing at the amount he’d taken purely of Suga.

And there he was in the background looking, for all the world, as if he’d either finished an impassioned snog with Konoha or was about to start one. And although he knew it was perfectly innocent (well, sort of, he supposed he _had_ been flirting) to someone else, someone who might be looking for any excuse to divert attention ( _You, Daddy, dearest_ ) it could be viewed as the love affair of the century. The picture had been up less than an hour. With a quick flick of his finger, he untagged his name. After that, he found his contacts page, honed in on Sawamura’s number and sent a message.

**[Sawa-chan, would you possibly remove two of the pictures on your fb post? It looks as if I’m about to kiss Konoha, and I don’t think either of us want that flying around our respective colleges.]**

The reply came back almost immediately.

**_[If you stop calling me Sawa-chan, then yeah.]_ **

**[Ha, no can do, but if I smile extra nicely and buy you pork buns, then will you?]**

**_[Guess so]_ **

A pause.

**_[Okay, done.]_ **

**[Thank you. How’s the birthday boy this morning?]**

**_[Sleeping it off. He’s not a morning person at the best of times and is desperate for mango juice, so I gotta fly]_ **

**[Ah, okay. I’ll leave you to it. And thank you again.]**

**_[np]_ **

“Talked to your fella?” Konoha said, sliding into the seat opposite.

“I’ve sent him a message.” Tooru smiled. “Thank you for listening, Kono-chan.”

He didn’t scowl at the diminutive, but laughed. “Not a problem. How’s the head?”

He rolled his eyes, then closed his eyes as the persistent ache throbbed through his brain. “Awful. I’m _never_ drinking again.”

“He’d disapprove, would he?”

“He’d laugh, and so would the others. I’m very adamantly anti-alcohol, so I’d be forced to buy ramen for them for the rest of my life, I expect.”

“Sound like a tight group,” Konoha mused. He took a sip of his coffee, peering across the cup rim at Tooru. “And you’ve stayed in touch?”

Nodding, Tooru finished the biscuit before replying. “We have been, but, well, it’s probably awkward with me and Iwa-chan not speaking. And then ...” He chewed his lower lip, sucking it between his teeth. “They’ve lied to me. I know why, but it still hurts.”

“What about?”

“You’ll think I’m childish.”

Konoha shrugged. “So what? I think Bo’s an actual toddler but I still love the guy to bits.”

Okay, here goes. “I told you he was playing for Karasuno.”

“Mmm.”

“Well, I’m prepared to overlook that – don’t snort at me, Kono-chan.”

“You’re going to overlook that,” Konoha intoned. “That’s magnanimous of you.”

“I told you I was childish,” Tooru mumbled. He picked up a napkin crumpling it   in his hand. “Anyway, I thought I was mistaken because Makki – that’s Hanamaki, our friend – told me I was wrong and Iwa-chan hadn’t been playing for them at all.”

“Which is good?”Konoha looked as if he was repressing a snort, his tongue pressing against his lips.

“Well, yes. Except that I know he must miss playing, no matter how much he says he has to study, there’s always going to be a part of him that wants to get on that court.” He cleared his throat. “I decided to go back for his birthday. Had some idea about kissing and making up, and just ... it would have been so good to see them all again. And Iwa-chan’s family. He has brothers, you know, twins who look like he used to, and –” There were tears starting to prickle the backs of his eyes, and he furled his fingers around the napkin, digging his nails in until he could feel the paper tear.

“So what happened?” He’d put down the cup, and reached across the table, touching Tooru’s hand.

“Makki lied. I overheard Suga talking to the Karasuno manager about ‘Seijou’s Ace’ and how ‘great he is’ and how she had a crush on him and ... ‘Iwaizumi-san is amazing’ all that type of thing.” He swallowed. “And suddenly I knew I couldn’t go back. It wasn’t only that he was playing, but that the three of them had lied. Makki even told me Iwa-chan was in Miyagi during Golden Week when I _knew_ he’d been in Tokyo with the team. I felt stupid.”

Konoha’s fingers tapped him lightly on the knuckle and he frowned. “Iwaizumi? Is that his name?”

“Yes.”

“I ... don’t remember him.”

“Well, why would you?” he snapped. “We never made it to Nationals and –”

“But I saw them at Golden Week. I told you that, and I watched Karasuno, not just when they played us, but a lot of their other games because they’re so entertaining.” His hand gripped Tooru’s. “Oikawa-kun, they didn’t have a player called Iwaizumi.”

Pulling away, and letting his chair screech across the floor (because why was this guy lying to him, too?) Tooru crumpled the napkin into a ball. “Yes, you did. You mentioned his serve. It was one of the things I remember when I first met you!”

“Huh?”

“You said Karasuno must have brought in a ringer and it was someone you didn’t remember from last year.”

And then Konoha chuckled. It was very unfair that when he laughed his eyes elongated and he looked a thousand times more attractive, but Tooru scowled back, his jaw set.

“Bokuto only remembers the guys he plays against. Karasuno have a sub, who came on to do jump float serves.”

“Freckles and dark hair?”

“Well, there’s him, but it was another guy, blond spiky hair, Kinoshita. His serve is this amazing weapon. Accurate and with some power behind it. Completely wrong-footed Onaga until we ... uh ... they got the hang of it, and by then it was too late, ‘cause their ace had slammed down a spike.” He grinned again. “Their Ace, just so you know, is Tanaka. Still has that monk look going on. Doesn’t play like one, though.”

“Then...” Tooru blinked. His eyelids flickered up and down as he tried to make sense of the new information. “Why did Suga lie?”

Shrugging Konoha sat back in his chair and picked up his coffee. “Doubt he’d do that. He might have been talking about something else, or maybe Iwaizumi has just started playing for them. It’s possible your other friends didn’t know.” He sipped then licked the froth off his top lip, his tongue like a cat’s.  “But like I said, does it matter? You know he should play if you want him to continue in college, so doesn’t that mean you’ve just got to suck it up?”

 

***

Later when he’d returned to the apartment, and flopped down on the sofa, he checked his phone again. Iwa-chan hadn’t texted, and although he knew how stubborn he was, Tooru had thought he’d have replied by now, if only to send a volley of abuse.

‘Suck it up,’ Konoha had said.

So, biting the bullet, he hit the call button. Iwa-chan was number four on his list – it wasn’t a preference thing, but his shirt number.

His normal reaction to voicemail was to hang up, but this time he left a message – another ‘sorry’, and a contritely asking if he could visit or whether Iwa-chan wanted to come up to Tokyo.

“I’m around for the rest of the evening, so please call.”

Leaving nothing to chance, he tried Mattsun then tacked Makki on as well, starting with an apology, and explaining he’d forgotten he’d been invited to a college function (that sounded more excusable than party). Then he posed the suggestion of coming down another time. Lastly he asked after Hajime, told them he’d tried to get in touch, but had got no reply.

**[Let me know what you think.]**

He slept after that, the previous night’s excesses and cripplingly uncomfortable night on Bokuto’s floor finally catching up with him. Sprawled out, the phone dropped from his hand onto the floor.

No one called. Or sent a message, and he woke up with a crick in his neck and the late afternoon sun glaring in his eyes.

Radio silence. Odd phrase because now the lack of communication from Miyagi blared loud.  When they’d first started at Seijou, they hadn’t automatically formed their friendship group, but they’d drifted together until there’d been meet-ups in cafes after school, visits to the bowling alley and cinema, culminating in a sleepover on Tooru’s birthday for the four of them. Different classes, same team, same aim.

But no more.

Had he always been apart from them? His talent had been honed to diamond bright. And he’d been the focus of so much for Seijou. But they’d been a team, and off court, he’d felt no different – partly because the other three kept him grounded, relentlessly teasing and dragging him back to earth with them.

**[Mattsun]** he typed. **[ Iwa-chan hasn’t replied and he’s not answering his phone.]**

**_[Do you blame him?]_ **

_Uh ... okay, not the answer I expected. He must know I bailed on the weekend._

**[ Will you talk to him for me?]**

**_[Nope.]_ **

**[You won’t!]**

**_[Your fuck up. You sort it out!]_ **

He stared at the screen, then quickly flicked to another number.  

**[Makki, hi!]**

**_[I’m literally sitting right next to Issei.]_ **

_Dammit!_

**[And you think the same?]**

**_[I think it’s up to you two to sort out. And we’re pretty sick of being your go-betweens.]_ **

He took a breath, then hissed it out through his teeth. **[All I’m asking is that you send one text. Tell him I’ll come down if he wants me to. Tell him I’m sorry.]**

There was no reply for a while. Tooru could hear the tick of his mother’s clock on the wall, and watched as the second hand punctuated the time – little full stops signalling the emptiness of the Sunday.

**[Makki?]**

**_[He’s not replying and his phone’s going straight to voicemail. ]_ **

**[You could go round there and explain]**

**_[No I fucking couldn’t! I’m going back to college soon and am not spending the rest of this weekend sorting out your fucking mess. Now, fuck off.]_ **

**[Please.]**

**_[No! Sort this out yourself instead of pissing everybody around. And if you text me again tonight I’m blocking you. ]_ **

Damn it. He would as well. Makki was reasonable, the most reasonable of them all, but if pushed he’d obstinately refuse to do anything.

There was only one more text to send. He thought carefully, hating the fact that every word seemed wrong, every letter so leaden with doom. And this was dumb because they’d been friends before they were lovers, and friends for far too long for it to end on a text.

**[Iwa-chan. Please speak to me. I know I’ve messed up. I’m sorry.]**

No reply. His head began to pound again, but somehow he didn’t think it was the result of the night before.

**[I miss you.]**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( 
> 
> HE MISSES HIS IWA-CHHHHHHAAAAAAAN.


	22. Fairer Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hajime is taken by surprise, and we meet some familiar faces.

He was early to practise, so instead of waiting for the kouhais to scurry in and set up, Hajime got the net out himself, and then the basket of balls at one end of the court. Serve and receive practise to start with, getting them to judge the course of the ball from the form of the spiker.

They were all late, not exceptionally so, but given he tended to arrive with the crowd, it was noticeable that he was alone. Still, it gave him time with his thoughts and a plan he was formulating.

The Libero arrived, slouching through the door and yawning. Knowing her now, Hajime realised this was her normal attitude. Oshiro was belligerent and unyielding, occasionally protesting his methods, but she’d not questioned his appointment. Her stubbornness, which Misa gritted her teeth at, Hajime saw as a benefit. She didn’t want to give up, demanding more receives every week, and yet always prepared to help the weaker players. It was a grit he saw in most Liberos. And she had it in spades.

She still didn’t like him though, and scowled fiercely on discovering he was the only one there.

“Where’s Misa?” she said, hands on hips, confrontation ingrained in her.

“I locked her in the changing room,” he snapped.

“I only asked!”

“Look around,” he replied and gestured to the empty gym. “It’s just me. Everyone’s late.”

“I’m not.”

The frown on her face made her eyes disappear under her dead straight coal black eyebrows.

“Well, good for you. That’s one gold star,” he retorted.

She shrugged, not the least put off and he wondered in that glimpse, whether she got off on confrontation. Or perhaps she was oblivious to it.

“If you want,” he said, “I could serve for you.”

“Sure.”

Well, that was easier than usual. There was actually a bit of a smile on her face. Dashing into the changing room, she emerged a short while later in her kit and her hair tied off her face.

“Stretch first,” he ordered.

“Hey what do you think I was doing on my way over?” she complained. “I, like, permanently roll my shoulders.”

“Indulge me,” he said, and then smiled. “Please, I don’t want Misa-san yelling at me when her Libero’s out of action.”

She did some desultory stretches, so he walked over to her and joined in. Feeling the burn in his Achilles tendon, he rested his hand on his knee, encouraging the stretch even further.

“That scar,” Oshiro said. “Is that why you stopped playing?”

“Mmm.”

“Accident?”

“Injury,” he muttered. “I didn’t warm up properly.”

“Really?” Her eyebrow arch made him think of the word sardonic.

“Partly,” he admitted. “I was too wound up before the match, so probably wasn’t as thorough as I should have been. And I leapt for a ball that really I _should_ have left for someone else.”

“Ahhh.” She pushed the palm of her right hand on the elbow of her left, grimacing when they heard a resounding click. “Important game?”

“Nope, a practise match. Actually it was more of a friendly.”

“Wow.” She bent down, touching the floor with her palms. “You really go all out, don’t you? What happened after that?”

“I ended up in hospital.”

“I meant to the game,” she said, flashing him a grin as she straightened up. “But tough break.”

“We won. The guy who replaced me was ... uh ... exceptional.”

“Oikawa-san, right?”

He nodded. “Think we’re done now. Ready for a serve?”

“Go ahead, Ace-chan,” she said.

But as she wandered to the back of the court, her eyes were flicking to the clock, and he realised the others were all late now.

 “So, is there any reason why everyone’s late?”

“No idea,” she dismissed him. “Bring it on, Iwaizumi-san!”

He span the ball between his fingers as he walked to the far corner. Maybe they’d gone to see the Adviser? Or perhaps there was some school wide meeting they’d both forgotten about, or a mass detention had hit his team.

“Hey, come on, Iwaizumi-san, or the session will be over!”

A one-man team. A one-woman team. He wondered how successful one Libero could be.

And then he stopped walking, stopped twirling, began his run up and leapt.

He was mid jump and about to hit the ball when he heard the shout - or rather shouts – as a flurry of girls ran into the gym. Their faces were wreathed in smiles, smiles they were trying to keep in check. Sugawara was the second girl in behind Misa-san, and she was laughing, breathless, pretty.

He fluffed the serve, an easy receive for Oshiro, who hoofed it gently towards their captain.

“You’re late!” he yelled.

“Yeah, sorry,” Misa called back.

“ALL OF YOU!” he shouted, now getting even more irritated because none of them looked remotely contrite. “Look, I can’t stay behind every time after school, so if you want me to continue this gig, then you have to give me the respect-”

“Girls!” Misa said, turning her back on Hajime to face them. “What do we say?”

Oshiro had joined them, shuffling next to Sugawara, not at all abashed.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, IWAIZUMI-SENPAI!”  they cried, then still smiling, they all blew him kisses and bowed. “THANK YOU FOR COACHING US!”

“Huh?”

“You heard,” Oshiro sniped, but she was grinning wider than any of them. “I drew the short straw having to keep you occupied.”

It was Sugawara who ran forwards; she bowed again in front of him, and then handed over a package. It was wrapped in plastic, squashy, some type of clothing, he thought. And then Misa stepped up to him, a box in her hand. She flipped open the lid to reveal a cake. It was messy, not professional, a sponge with icing dripping down the sides, white with green and red, round to approximate a volleyball.

“My mom made it,” Misa said nonchalantly. “But I iced it.”

“Uh ...” He blinked, not quite knowing what to say, speech rendered impossible by the sudden lump accumulating in his throat.

“He’s speechless!” Oshiro whooped. “There’s a first.”

“Um ... it is your birthday, isn’t it?” Sugawara whispered. “Only, um, Koji-chan mentioned it.”

“Uh... yeah, it was on Saturday.” He stared at her, meeting her blue eyes and faintly flushed face, pinkening deeper under his scrutiny. “Thank you. I really don’t know what to say.”

“Open your gift before you say anything. You might want to chuck it in the bin and desert us. But ... um ... please don’t.”

It was Misa’s humility that got to him. Usually strident and fiercely defensive of herself and her team, she was beseeching him.  With trembling hands, he ripped open the package, letting the plastic drop to the floor.

“We had to check with Mizohito-sensei.” Sugawara murmured. “And we hope it fits because ... well ... it’s the largest we’ve got. Aimi-san ironed the name on in the art block.”

“It’s a training top,” he muttered, holding it up in front of him. It was dark blue, with a white stripe running from the shoulders and down the arms. He turned it over, reading the kanji bearing the legend ‘Iwaizumi Hajime’.

“A club jacket,” he said.

“You’re our coach,” Misa said gruffly. “And, um, we’d like you to look the part when we play.”

The words had stuck in his larynx.

“Yeah, he’s done,” Oshiro laughed. “Maybe we should all stretch and wait for Coach-san to breathe.”

Reaching out, he touched Sugawara on the arm. “Thank you,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled.

But it wasn’t nothing. They wanted him around, and that meant everything.

 

They finished early, Hajime calling a halt to the session and sitting them all on the gym floor. Opening the box, he cut the cake (with a plastic knife purloined from the cafeteria) and shared it out. It was sweet and melted on his tongue.

“Good cake,” he said to Misa. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You all went to a lot of trouble.”

“Especially me,” Oshiro joked. “Nightmare being alone with you, Coach-san, but you wouldn’t answer your bloody phone.”

“Oh, right, about that -”

“Misa sent you a text asking to meet you outside Class 4. She was going to take you off to the library while we set up here, but no, you had to not reply. Like, dude, switch your phone on!”

“Ah.” He coughed, then raised his hand to cover the blush stealing across his cheeks. “I lost my phone and don’t have a replacement yet.”

“Oh, bummer.”

“And the internet in my new place won’t be connected for a couple of days. So ... um ... if you need to speak to me, then landline, or hang fire ‘til we get to school.”

“How can you live without a phone? You’re getting a new one soon, right?” Oshiro asked.

“Sure!”

_Kind of up to Mum and Dad_ , he thought, not looking forward to the conversation he was going to have to have with them.

“Anyway!” he said, much more breezily because this was another conversation he was dubious about starting. “I have something else I need to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?” Misa looked suspicious.

“After school, I wondered if ...”

“We don’t have a practise, and you always say you can’t stay after school.”

“Uh ... yeah ...”

“Please don’t tell us this is a mass date, Iwaizumi-san,” Oshiro mocked. “Only I know everyone’s tripping over their feet to meet the new guy, but I haven’t washed my hair and I don’t own a pretty dress.”

“Ha.” He gave her a scowl, but emboldened by her words, he at least stopped hesitating. “Okay, so I was asked to write something for the school mag.”

“A photo shoot with us?” Misa offered, her lips twitching.

“Will you listen?” he barked, but they were all laughing now, not at all intimidated when he was on the back foot.

“Takeda-sensei liked something I’d written about losing,” he said, knowing he sounded sharp.

That shut them up.

“About us?”

“What!”He stared at Sugawara, her eyes were wide and sorrowful. “No, no, not about you, about me, actually. Anyway –” He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and slapped his temple. “Takeda wants me to write more. He thought the coaching angle was good, so I might write that if I have your permission, but –” he got in quick, hoping to quell their murmuring, “- it’s actually a match report.”

“What match? I thought we couldn’t line up any practise matches.”

He winced, because that had been the one thing he was unable to do. As a pupil, he had no contacts whatsoever (he wasn’t about to ask Seijou) but was rather hoping other schools were in the same position.

“It’s ... um ... the boys’ team. They’re playing Datekou, and I want to know how many of you can come and watch.”

“Why?” Oshiro asked, curious and not with her usual belligerence (he made a mental note to treat her to cake more often).

“Because there’s only so many times I can tell you what you should do. And, yeah, we can watch games on DVD, but live it’s totally different.” He coughed into his hand, pretending he was distracted, but he took in the glances between them all.

“Where is it?” Misa asked at last.

“Boys gym, so it’s really only a matter of being able to stay after school.”

There were some huffs and groans, two of them had an extra class (which was one of the reasons Monday practise was always sketchy) and another made an excuse, one she’d clearly grabbed from thin air the way her eyes were flicking up and to the left.

“I can,” Sugawara said, the first of them all. “I don’t need to be home, and ... um ... I’d like to see them play.”

“I’m in!” Oshiro stretched out her legs. “Noya-san’s always entertaining.”

With Misa agreeing, Aimi saying yes after thinking about it, and three others (including one of the first years who’d decided to stay) he had seven, and after a promise to buy them pork buns after, he had eight.

He smiled widely, then divided finished up the last bit of cake. They tidied up the gym, Sugawara skipping along as she collected stray cones. And he tried not to show his relief that she in particular had agreed to watch because their matches started next week, and there was very little he could help her with now.

 

***

Whether Takeda had expected him to turn up, or had been eternally optimistic, Hajime never found out. There were chairs set up along the side of the court, currently taken by the Karasuno Coach, the manager and Takeda, then on the other side, Hajime recognised the Datekou manager with an empty seat next to her.  Presuming she was waiting for the coach, he spied another chair – a little apart from that grouping, and wondered if it was supposed to be for him.

“Iwaizumi-kun, you came!” Takeda greeted him, a little flustered as he turned to Ukai. “Iwaizumi is a writer and I asked if he wanted to do a piece for the school magazine on matches.”

“Writer, huh?”

“I wrote one piece,” Hajime replied, flushing a little.

“It was really good!” someone interrupted.

Hajime cast his eyes down, meeting a pair of blue ones staring back, disingenuous and wide, her cheeks were bright pink as if she couldn’t believe she’d actually spoken.

_The manager._ He didn’t remember her from last year, except that she’d been hanging around and Yahaba’s flirting technique had consisted of throwing a ball at her.

“You’ve read it?” he asked, surprised because as far as he knew the magazine wasn’t out yet.

“I ... um ... I’m ...”

“Yachi-kun works on the editorial team,” Takeda put in. “She probably proof read it.”

“Oh...” He tried a smile, but it appeared to scare her. “Hope you didn’t have to work too hard on it.”

“Yes... um ... No ... I mean ... uh, uh, uh ... there was very little to do.” She gulped then smoothed her hands down her tracksuit bottoms and held her clipboard closer to her chest. “Are you really going to write about this match?”

“Maybe. I ... um ... I have a favour to ask.”

“I’m listening.” Takeda smiled at him, looking avuncular.

“Of Ukai-san, actually,” Hajime said, wincing.

“What?” Ukai didn’t turn around, his eyes on the boys as they walked out of the changing rooms, and started a quick warm up.

“Can I bring some people in to watch?”

He twisted his head halfway. “As long as it ain’t some spying session for Seijou.”

“Nothing like that. Um ... I have most of the girls’ team outside. They could really benefit from seeing a live match.” He glanced along the side of the court. There weren’t enough chairs to accommodate them all, and he didn’t particularly want to tell any of them to leave, not when they’d agreed to stay and watch. Feeling a slight breeze, he lifted his head up, catching sight of the windows above them.

“We could stand up there,” he said, pointing to the narrow gallery in front of the windows.

“Girls volleyball team?” Ukai considered, then gave a raspy cough. “One more thing for Tanaka and Nishinoya to have to block out.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind, as long as they don’t outright sledge ‘em all. Yachi-kun, show Iwaizumi and the others how to get up there, right?”

The girls trooped in, and it was at that point that Karasuno noticed Iwaizumi. Tanaka’s usual belligerence when he saw Hajime at school increased tenfold, but then he saw the girls and his expression meandered between anger and goofiness. Nishinoya began to stride forwards, but the hand of his Captain grasped the scruff of his shirt and although his legs were still moving he was getting nowhere. The other players didn’t seem that bothered, continuing their warm up. But as they walked across the court, the group thinned out and one player became far more noticeable.

“Suga-chan!”

She flushed and blinked a little, but span on the spot to face the caller. Hajime watched as her expression changed from one of wariness to pleasure and she smiled widely. “Hinata-san!”

He was approaching, running up to them, and Ennoshita hadn’t seen fit to yank him back, so Hajime dropped back to wait with her letting the others go ahead of him. Hinata stopped in front of them, and his mouth dropped open when he took in who was with her.

“Iwaizumi-san!”

“Hinata.” He nodded to him.

“Uh ... why are you here?”

Tanaka had stopped glowering, ducking his head as he pretended he wasn’t listening.

“Thought the girls should see a match,” Hajime replied and flicked his eyes towards Ennoshita. “That’s okay with you, I hope, Captain?”

“Be nice to have supporters,” Ennoshita replied, and his sleepy eyes glinted. “You _are_ on our side, I hope.”

“Of course!” Sugawara answered. She was smiling at them all, and waved to Yachi– clearly not a stranger to them. And for their part, the Karasuno guys, even the ones most distracted by girls, seemed to have forgotten she was female and greeted her warmly

Saying nothing, Hajime took a step closer to Ennoshita. “Datekou, right? Tough team.”

“Mmm, their Iron Wall is the same one you faced,” he whispered back. “We all saw that match.”

Then the Datekou team stepped out from the changing room. The crazy haired Setter looked taller, Hajime thought. He stared at him, then flicked his attention to Aone and behind him, shorter, but no less intimidating, Futakuchi.  And he remembered that match, and the certainty he’d felt even before he hit the ball that his spike would get past them. A wall, but one that had cracks. Now, watching Koganegawa, Hajime was in no doubt the cement had thickened and they’d be incredibly hard to beat.

“Rather you than me,” he joked.

But all the same there was an ache in his gut, especially when the Datekou team did an almost collective double take on seeing him. Stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets, he gestured at Sugawara towards the gallery with his head, and after a flurry of good lucks, she followed him.

“They’re so big,” she gasped, her eyes on Koganegawa. “Which one is their Setter?”

“The one you’re looking at,” he muttered. He checked the laugh in his throat at her sudden blink and stumble. “His technique was raw last year, the idea was that he’d throw it really high and Futakuchi – that’s the Captain and their Ace – would connect to it before the opposing wall had jumped.

“Did it work?”

“We beat them,” he replied, then faltered. “I mean Aobajousai beat them. To be fair to Koganegawa, he was very new to the game. I doubt they’d keep him in if he was still as raw.” 

He sniffed the air, a memory drifting back to him of Kindaichi telling his senpai about the Miyagi training camp. He’d met and liked Koganegawa, had exchanged numbers, explaining to Hajime that the camp had been hard and a lot of players had been unable to forget their rivalries, but not the Datekou Setter. Then he’d apologised, for what Hajime never really found out, but Kunimi had joined them and then Yahaba, and Kindaichi hadn’t mentioned the training camp again.

A friend from another school, another team. He’d not had that, but then he’d been at the same school as Oikawa since he’d turned eight, and had never thought it mattered.

“Tall Setters must have an advantage, though,” she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

“Tall volleyball players have an advantage full stop,” he retorted. Then he bit his lip because she’d flinched at his tone. “But Hinata-kun doesn’t seem to have read that memo. Look, Sugawara-kun, tall Setters like Koganegawa are rare and for what it’s worth, I doubt he’s the number one problem Karasuno will face.”

There was a ladder to climb to reach the gallery. The rest of the team were up there already, chatting a little. Misa and Oshiro were pointing out the players to the younger team members, and it occurred to him then, that he had no idea who they were in classes with.

“Do you know them well?” he asked Misa.

She crinkled her nose. “I’m in Class Four with Narita. Ennoshita-kun used to be with us but he moved up a class. I know _of_ the others, especially Kinoshita.”

“Uh ...blond guy, right? Why him?” he asked, curious because he barely remembered him, certainly he’d only been on the sidelines before now.

“Narita-kun’s friend. They study together and ... uh ... one of my friends likes him.”

“Ah.” He lost interest. “And you, Oshiro-kun?”

“Class Three with Kageyama. I don’t think the guy knows I exist.”  She laughed, not at all bothered. “And I know Hinata because ... well ... everyone knows Hinata.”

Aimi was leaning over the railings, taking in the players. A couple of girls were chatting and Hajime noticed them ask her a question, but she hadn’t appeared to reply.

He shuffled next to her, and without looking at him, she sensed his presence, asking, “How good are Date Tech offensively?”

“Hmm, well, they score a lot of points from defence, but their Ace is good.”

“Better than Tanaka?”

“I’ve not seen Tanaka this year, but they’re comparable, I guess. Both are ... uh ... tenacious. Futakuchi’s a wind up merchant with his words, Tanaka’s more likely to make it count on the court. I remember last year –”

He stopped abruptly, the rush of images from his last competitive match flooding his mind. Tanaka and Kyoutani squaring up to each other – the net had never looked more flimsy. But it had been Kyoutani who’d lost his composure.

“He’s an idiot in class,” Aimi was saying. “Barely strings a sentence together at times. Sensei is always having to reprimand him.”

“He’s got an iron will,” Hajime replied sharply. “I saw him face down a bombardment of serves that should have broken him.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback by the rebuke and scowled at him. “Just saying!  It’s not like we’re going to have to face him.”

“Nope, you won’t, but Tanaka-kun is an example about never underestimating your opponent.”

She appeared mollified, but angled her body away from him, so Hajime shuffled to the end of the row, standing next to Sugawara.

“Before they start, don’t feel intimidated,” he warned her. “Kageyama’s at a level very few can get to.”

“I know that,” she muttered. “Do I look that scared?”

“Your teeth are chattering,” he teased. “Focus on his form when he tosses.

A shriek of giggles hit the air, and a laughing jeer from Oshiro, and looking away from her and down to the court, Hajime saw why. The Datekou Captain, realising there was an audience, had winked at them and bowed.  “Hi there, Ladies, if you want to cheer for us, because we’re much better looking and we’re gonna win, then our song goes ‘Go Go Let’s Go, Let’s go, Datekou!” He began to conduct. “Want to practise!”

Ennoshita raised his eyebrows and took a step towards Tanaka. Hinata was twitchy, jumping up and down, his eyes half on Aone, half on the girls.

“In your dreams!” Oshiro yelled. “GO GO KARA-SUNO! Karasuno ... FIIIIGHT!”

The others joined in, raising their hands above their heads to clap, and Hajime watched Futakuchi, not the least put out, continue to grin, and then he saw the Karasuno team, readying themselves on court. Nishinoya and Tanaka, the two Ennoshita had been so careful to check, were now focused, and even Hinata who’d been bobbing and weaving around the court, had taken his pace on the vanguard.

It was Ennoshita’s serve. Not especially powerful, but solid, received with ease by the Datekou Libero, who deftly aimed it towards their Setter.  Koganegawa tossed. It was high, stratospheric, and he heard Sugawara’s gasp.

“Watch,” he whispered. “High doesn’t necessarily mean good.”

The ball descended, Futakuchi jumped, but the intent was clear, and Ennoshita received from the Datekou Ace, propelling the ball towards Kageyama.  Hinata jumped, Aone met him, but Tanaka rose a split second after, sending the ball right down the centre.

“HELL YEAHHHHH!” he roared.

“So what did you notice?”

“Kageyama’s brilliant.”

“Well, yeah, but about the Datekou set?”

“Oh...” She thought briefly. “It was slow. Ennoshita-san was able to get into position.”

“Yup. Now, that was one play, and it’s not going to predict the outcome of the game, but some players are slow starters and you have to be able to take advantage of that. Others, like Kageyama and Tanaka, aren’t.”

He wanted to say the game ebbed and flowed, but in truth, it was too fast and furious for that. Karasuno had always skeltered along at breakneck pace, but Datekou, instead of trying to slow the tempo, kept up. This was a team under Futakuchi, tempered only by his bear of a vice captain and the Libero who could dart out of nowhere.

And they were good. They’d had eight months to connect, and it showed. First years were on the sidelines, having not made the first team. Watching them compete, Hajime felt the longing tear at him, he wanted to face them, and he wanted to jump again, see if he could take down that wall one more time.

Karasuno were a team off kilter – not disastrously so – but they missed their former captain. Ennoshita was stalwart. He could lead, but he couldn’t command – at least not yet. There were glimmers to him, but even from watching this opening set, hard fought and close, Hajime knew the Inter-Highs were too near for them. They had a new Wing Spiker, a first year – tall, with long hair he’d scragged back into a ponytail – talented, but still green.

His thoughts ran to Seijou, wondering what stage they’d be at now. _Without Oikawa (and without the rest of us) they’ll suffer, but then Seijou has always had depth._

It went to three sets, but Futakuchi’s last spike sealed the game at twenty nine-twenty seven. A scream from Hinata, a bellow from Tanaka and an agonised stare at the ceiling from Ennoshita. It was the only expression of dejection he allowed himself, before he corralled the team to line up and bow to their opponents.

“Dammit, so close!” Oshiro rasped. Her knuckles were sore where she’d been biting them. “I thought Hinata was going to sneak it at the end, but that Libero was amazing.”

“I didn’t notice him much,” Misa replied, sounding thoughtful.

“You often won’t,” Hajime said. “But you need to be aware of them all the time.”

“Are you saying Hinata made a mistake?”

He shook his head. “Not really. You go with the shot you think will succeed. Hinata works by instinct most of the time. Hell, when I first played against him, he closed his eyes. But Sakunami-kun is used to protecting his Setter and that’s expanded into protecting everyone. He’s hyper aware, just as Nishinoya is, but less  ... uh ... hyper.”

They continued to discuss amongst themselves, climbing down the ladder, then peeling off into smaller groups as they made their way to the exit. Telling them to think and make some notes, Hajime hung back. He had no real reason, except the smell in the air, the mixture of sweat, salonpas, victory and defeat was enticing him.

“Thank you,” he said to Takeda and Ukai. “It was a good match. Tough on you guys.”

“Ah, we’re a work in progress, and we have another week,” Ukai growled. “And Yamaguchi-kun had to sit this one out with a wrist sprain.”

“Tanaka-kun’s serves were fierce,” Hajime offered.

“Yeah, and when he lands ‘em he’s practically unstoppable,” Ukai agreed.

There wasn’t much more to say, so with another bow, Hajime started to leave, but when he was at the door, Ukai caught up with him. “Was it useful for ya, Iwaizumi-kun?”

“Yes, I think so. I was ... surprised you didn’t have more support, though.”

“You had crowds at Aobajousai?”

“Um ... yeah, we had regulars who’d turn up whoever we were playing. I thought the fact you’d have reached Nationals would have made you more popular. At Seijou, volleyball was like a religion, and we never got that far.”

Ukai barked out a laugh. Reaching into his tracksuit pocket, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “Yeah, well, here it’s more like a cult.”  He clapped Hajime on the back. “No hankering to come back?”

He wanted to scream a denial, to shut Ukai up and stop him mentioning it again, but something must have shown in his face no matter how hard he screwed up his features.

“Course you have,” Ukai muttered. “It’s ingrained in ya. Is it still Karasuno? Is that what you have trouble with? ‘Cause we beat ya?”

And it had been. Despite promising him mum he wouldn’t play, he’d have found a way if it hadn’t been for Oikawa. He realised that now. If he’d signed up at the start of the year, then maybe he could have had one more tournament, or at least been part of it. Inter-Highs with Karasuno, and then he’d have quit and knuckled down. It was too late now. He was fit but not match fit, and he’d have looked as green as their new first year.

But Oikawa and Seijou were in the past. His eyes burnt as he held back the hot tears. “This is too important a year for me,” he mumbled. “I can’t get involved.”

 

There wasn’t much more to say, so with another bow, Hajime started to leave, but when he was at the door, he heard running behind him, And then a hand tugged on his sleeve.

“Iwaizumi-san?”

The voice was deferential, and that surprised him because in the past its owner had been confrontational and aggravating _. I could pretend not to know him._ But that was something Oikawa would have done merely to unsettle him.

“Futakuchi-kun.”

“You’re a student here, then?” he asked, sounding dubious.

“Would I be a wearing a gakuran otherwise?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. Sorry. I asked Ennoshita about it, and he told me you were at Karasuno, but ... uh ... I didn’t really believe him.” he laughed, and flicked his fringe off his forehead. “So... uh ... are you really not playing for Karasuno?”

“I’d have been on court wouldn’t I?”

“Mmm, I guess. Just ...” His eyes narrowed as he assessed Hajime. “You could be a ringer for that kid.”

“Scared you’ll come up against me at Inter-Highs?”

“No!” He laughed, but there’d been an edge of panic in his tone. “But I don’t like tricks.”

There was hunger in his eyes, a thirst to win, and a glint of determination. Futakuchi might have wound up his opponents (and sometimes his teammates) but stuffing a High School team full of star players, would have been far too underhand.

“There’s no trick,” Hajime assured him. “I’m not part of the team.”

“Hmm, Ennoshita said as much. I needed to check.” He held out his hand. “Good luck to you.”

“Thanks.” He shook his hand, and then stepped away, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “Datekou are looking good, by the way.”

Smirking, Futakuchi waved him off. “Yeah, we are.” He laughed again. “Gotta say, if you’d turned up at Datekou, I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

“You’d have given up your place?” Hajime said mildly.

It took a split second for the burn to activate. Futakuchi scowled deep, but it was momentary. “Hey, I’m taller, fitter and stronger, Iwaizumi-san. You wouldn’t have stood a chance!”

“Stronger, huh.” He recognised the challenge but the girls were calling out for their pork buns, and now was not the time. “Guess we’ll never know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :D


	23. Gliding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru cements his friendships, but not everything is rosy ...

The class was boring. Fidgety and tired, Tooru sipped from his water bottle and tried to concentrate on what Takahisho was talking about. But their sensei was cracking a joke with a group of girls, and Tooru’s attention drifted again.

Practise the night before had been good. Not only was Bokuto storming through every block, but Tooru was enabling him. His fingers worked magic, and together they were rampaging through the university practise matches, a duo to be feared.

It wasn’t one of the core lessons, so Suga wasn’t in class, and neither was Yaku, having been laid low by a stomach bug. Flopping down in his usual place by the window, Tooru had been joined by Fujita.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she’d whispered, gesturing to the empty seat.

“Not at all,” he replied, bestowing a smile on her.

_Ughh, not your ‘charming’ smile! –_ he could hear the growl and almost flinched at the thought of a volleyball in his face.

Since Suga’s party, he’d found himself talking to more people from his course, and despite the fact that Fujita-san had tried to lecture him about careers in the middle of said party, she could, he’d realised, be fun as well as useful.

She was intelligent, had kept up with the work, and when he’d actually asked her a question instead of merely answering hers, he’d discovered a love of sci-fi films.

Takahisho returned to the smart board, pointing at a list of suggestions for reading material for their assignment. Due in the end of term, Tooru had made a few vague notes, and had no doubts he’d be finished in time, so he switched off again because he had other more pressing matters on his mind.

The inter-collegiate tournament, for one thing.

_And the other_ ... He gnawed his lip, the debate still raging in his head. Perhaps if he went home, he could sort this out. Apologise and ...

But Iwa-chan hadn’t replied to any messages and he knew how implacable he could be.

_What if I make it worse? We’ll end up having another huge row and ..._

“Earth to Oikawa,” Fujita whispered. “You’re not concentrating.”

“Hmm?” His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he eased it out slowly, a small beam of hope glimmering in his chest.

But just because he was thinking about Iwa-chan, it didn’t mean he’d telepathically respond.

 “He’s giving us good ideas,” she hissed. “The essay’s important. And put your phone away!”

“Mmm, I know,” he murmured, and flicked his eyes towards Takahisho. “He’s too busy chatting up his fanclub to notice me right now.”

Fujita snorted, then tried to hide her laugh behind her hand, so he took advantage of her distraction to read the message.

**[Fixture list is up!!!!!]**

  **[Who?]**

**[We’re in Kyoto’s block. Konoha’s not gonna know what’s hit him!!]**

_Kyoto. Had to be fate._

**[And Ushiwaka, Boku-chan. Time to prove who’s the better Ace!]**

“You didn’t hear that last part at all, did you!” Fujita snapped at the lesson end.

“Hmm?”

“Takahisho-sensei’s changed the date for the essay,” she said, her lips pursed.

“Ahh, tell me,” he said, trying another smile on her.

“You shouldn’t be playing on your phone.” But the lines around her mouth had softened.

He wrinkled his nose. “Please. I need to tell Yaku-kun, and it’s not his fault he’s not here.”

“He needs them in by the Wednesday and not Friday because he’s guest lecturing at another college on those days.”

“And he can’t accept them by email?” Tooru queried. “That’s really irritating.”

“He wants to mark them and give them back before the end of term.” She glared at him. “Besides, didn’t you say you’d done a lot of it?”

“Mmm, sort of.” He tapped his head. “All up here, Fujita-chan. Right, what else do I need to tell Yaku?”

With a roll of her eyes, she handed him her notepad, and he scribbled down the details, plus a few more of her notes, giving her a wink and a promise of coffee.

“What was so important?” she asked, her tone casual, but she was twisting a strand of her hair between her finger and thumb.

“You won’t like it,” he replied, and smirked. “Volleyball match.”

“More important than our first big assessment of the year.”

Yes, he wanted say, but seeing the complete non comprehension in her eyes he shrugged instead. “It’s a win or lose thing. Have to grab your chance, don’t you?”

But she didn’t understand. She never would. Looking down at her earnest expression, he was reminded very firmly of his mother and the teachers at school who implored him not to waste his brain.

“Why Psychology, Oikawa-kun?” the Guidance Counsellor had said. “Where can it take you?”

“I like to know how people tick,” he’d supplied. That and he knew he’d be good at it.

“With your grades you should consider medicine.”

He’d laughed, adding a touch of self deprecation. “My bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, sensei.”

The Counsellor had made a sound Tooru had seen written as a harrumph, and hiding a smile, Tooru had got to his feet thinking the interview was over.

“Tokyo is excellent, and their Psychology course is amongst the best in the country, but there are other options, ” the counsellor said, not rising from his chair, and forcing Tooru to sit back down while he continued. “I know of your interest in volleyball, Oikawa-san, and there’s another college that might interest you.”

“Where?” Although he knew.

“Kyoto. Their team is excellent. Or you could try Osaka.”

He’d shaken his head, refusing to elaborate, then made up a story about wanting to be in Tokyo, and really there was nothing he had to explain. Tokyo was a great college, and teams fluctuated, so the fact that Kyoto was historically stronger didn’t have to mean a thing by the time he played. 

But he kept the details of this chat to himself, not telling his parents, or sister, and least of all, Iwa-chan.

‘Kyoto don’t have Law as a subject,’ he could have said. But he hadn’t.

 

 

He was packing up, taking his time because he had nowhere in particular he had to be. Fujita stayed by his side, sitting half on the table clearly waiting for him, and he guessed he could buy her coffee now as he’d promised. But there was something else on her mind, and when he straightened up, smiling down at her, she pinked and then cleared her throat.

“You know I’m doing Film Studies as my minor, don’t you?”

“Mmm.”

“Well, there’s a film marathon on, and a few of us are going and ... um ... I wondered if you’d like to come too.”

“Uh -”

“Old sci-fi,” she added, sounding a little flustered. “Like, really silly old foreign movies. I have to go, but ... um ... I wondered because ... well ... it’s sci-fi and –”

“How many are going?” he asked, and started to fiddle with the clasp of his bag.

“Oh... not sure. Several. Um ... seven at least,” she replied. “It’s no big deal. Just ... um ... thought.” She coughed. “It’s next weekend – on Sunday.”

“The whole of Sunday?”

“Uh... well, not really. They’re showing five films, but you can book individually.” She handed him a leaflet, folded from being in her pocket. “I was going to see those three, but if you fancy something else, then...”

He glanced at the titles. The marathon was genuine, a list of films and times and dates stared back at him. Maybe he should go. He’d have practise, obviously, but other than that he only had another session of sitting at home and ignoring the fact that no one was messaging him. And if she was asking him with a group of people, then it was clearly just a friendship thing. Noticing one title, he began to chuckle.

“Devil Girl from Mars – that sounds really silly.”

“Ah, yes, we looked at that in class.” Fujita giggled. “It’s become a cult classic. Martian woman wearing PVC, plans to kidnap Earthmen to repopulate her world.” She gnawed on her lip. “Fancy it?”

“Well, I don’t want to repopulate anything,” he breezed, “But, why not? It sounds fun. Thank you, Fujita-kun.”

They wandered out of the classroom together, and it seemed natural to walk across to the cafeteria. Like him, Fujita didn’t have another class straight away and she although she was making noises about studying, she didn’t appear desperate to leave for the library. He bought the coffees, and then as he wanted a cookie, he offered her one too, and although there were some others from their course sitting around, she found a different table – one for two – for both of them.

A faint feeling of unease curled inside him, the doubts about accepting her invitation creeping in his mind, but she was chattering as normal, and now he thought about it, she wasn’t behaving like the girls from Seijou. His fangirls and even his former girlfriends had gone through a phase of starry eyed-ness (he could practically hear a snort and a laugh from Mattsun as he thought about it) but Fujita, for all her initial awkwardness, was remarkably un-starry eyed.  Still it wouldn’t hurt to ...

“I could ask Yaku, or Suga to come too,” he said, pushing the film leaflet back towards her.

She was stirring her coffee, slowed, then tapped at the side of the cup. “Would it be their thing? I thought Sugawara was more into Harry Potter?”

“Well, yes, but - ”

“And Yaku might not be well enough. You did say he was ill.” She lifted her face up from the contemplation of her coffee cup. “But, obviously, if they’d like to go, then ...”

“Or Bokuto. Remember him from Suga’s party?” he said, trying again. “He’s ... I think he’s not altogether happy in halls. He often crashes at theirs.”

“You know a lot about them,” she said quietly.

“Teammates,” he replied. “I make it my business to find out about people. Mmm, I’ll ask Bokuto, unless you have an objection, Fujita-kun.”

“No, he’s welcome, of course he is,” she muttered. Her eyes were clear and wide as she stared into his. “The people I’m going with, though, are ... uh ... quite intellectual. And the film is English with subtitles.”

“That’s all right,” he said smoothly. “Bokuto-chan and I can sit at the back and eat popcorn.”

She wasn’t altogether happy, he could see that, and maybe he should have just straight out told her he wasn’t looking for a date, but it felt presumptuous, and if he was wrong, then things would be awkward between them. And that bothered him for some reason, although he wasn’t sure why.

“You ... um ... like him, don’t you?”

Ah, there was the question, dripping with a myriad of unasked queries, and suspicions. He lifted his coffee to his lips, blowing across the surface to cool it, then took a sip. “He’s a teammate,” he said softly. “But he’s also very good-natured. It’s hard _not_ to like him.”

“And Sugawara-san?”

“Pardon?”

“He’s ... uh ... flamboyant.”

He arched one eyebrow, irritated at her choice of word, for not only was it wrong, it was clearly her euphemism of choice that day.  Putting down his coffee, he met her gaze, saying slowly, lightly, but with precision. “I like Koushi-chan very much. And yes, he has an off the wall type of humour - if _that’s_ what you mean by flamboyant - but we have a lot in common.”

She blinked, and he sensed a small part of her shying away, but he continued to smile – bland and blithe, refusing to let her assume anything. If she wanted to know, then she’d have to ask.

“That girl at the party,” she persisted.

“Which one?”

“The friend of his from Miyagi. Are they dating?”

He resumed drinking his coffee, wondering what to say, but it wasn’t his secret to spill. “I believe she’s just a friend, but I don’t know.” The coffee was at optimum warmth now, so he took a longer drink. “Fujita-kun, if you want to ask me something, then please do?”

“It’s really not an issue,” she began.

_Ah, here it comes._

“Is Sugawara-san into girls? Only I’ve never seen him chat any up, but he’s popular and I’m sure any girl would be happy to ... um ...” Her face was a furious red now, emphasized by her screwed up expression.

He’d assumed things would be easier at college, and, he realised, if Hajime had been here with him, he’d have laughed at her because with his support ...

_But he’s not here. And he won’t be._

His phone had remained silent, with no calls or texts from anyone from Seijou. And Makki, too, had stopped messaging him, too. _I have burnt my bridges, so maybe I need to find new ones._

 “Hmm, if you want to go out with Suga, then you’ll really need to talk to him yourself,” he said at last. “I’m not a go-between.”

“Oh... no, that’s not at all what I meant,” she flustered and ran her fingers shakily through her hair. “Uh... Oikawa-san, I really ... um ... No, I’m not interested in ... um ...” She blinked rapidly, took a breath and then. “I like -”

Unable to bear hearing the question, jumping in before she could phrase it, Tooru leant across and clasped her fingers. _Be kind,_ a voice nagged in his head. _For once don’t be fucking condescending, you prick._ “He’s exceptionally pretty, I only wish he were interested in me, but good luck.”

Her mouth gaped open, there was a literal jaw drop, but he didn’t think it was such a surprise to her, more the confirmation of something she’d wondered, dreaded and the end of a possible dream.

“You’re gay,” she stated, voice small and a little shaky.

He pushed out his lower lip and shrugged. “I like boys. I’ve been out with girls. I’m currently ...” His mouth dried. How did he put it, when he had no idea?  He needed to lighten the atmosphere, so picking up a cookie he snapped it in half, then leant back on his chair. “You could say that my sexuality is volleyball, Fujita-san, but please don’t tell Takahisho or he’ll use me as analysis for the next three years.”

She laughed, a little in disbelief he thought from the way her hands were shaking and the coffee slopped from her cup, but she’d not outright yelled or sworn at him. There was nothing like revulsion emanating from her, just a tinge of disappointment as she sighed.

“You can take back that invitation if you’d like,” he murmured. “I’m not going to be offended.”

“Uh...” She blushed again, and he could see it had crossed her mind, but then she shook her head. “I’d like you to come, Oikawa-san. The others on my course take everything very literally, and you’d be more fun.”

“And you won’t mind if I ask Bokuto? I do think he’d enjoy it.”

She considered, tilting her head to the side, and for a moment, he thought she was going to say that she minded very much, but then she nodded. “Bring him, he’ll shake them all up!”

***

Practise was good. Although Yaku couldn’t attend because he was still ill, they managed a good warm up before the older students appeared

(‘ _Morisuke’s groaning in bed and blaming me,’_ Suga said. ‘ _Too much spice in the food. Personally I think it’s the wrap he had at lunchtime.’_

_‘You certainly put enough chilli into burn away any bacteria,’ Kuroo muttered. ‘Still can’t feel my lips.’_ )

But with Bokuto buzzing, hopping from foot to foot and eager to spike every ball, the five of them managed a three-on-two very successfully before the gym began to fill up. 

“Kyoto here we come!” Bokuto roared every time he slammed down a ball.

“Match is here, you dumb owl!” Kuroo yelled, getting his fingertips to one spike and managing to hoof it too Suga.

Expecting Suga to toss, Tooru was surprised when he tipped it over himself, laughing as he high fived Kuroo and Sawamura.

“Ugh! You’re supposed to be the predictable one!” Tooru complained.

“What makes you think that?” Sawamura asked, looking offended, far more so than Suga.

“Because when we played, Koushi-chan was the reliable Setter.” He smiled. “Mind you, those serves took some getting used to. But now, you’re getting very sneaky in your old age.”

Laughing, Suga punched Daichi on the arm, the effect easing the tension, but his next words, only caused a black cloud on Sawamura’s face.

“It’s because there’s no pressure,” Suga replied. “I’m enjoying this.”

“No pressure!  We have the collegiate championships starting.”

“Like I’ll make the team!” Suga literally rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get back into it.”

“Don’t do that!” Sawamura chided.

“Do what?” Suga asked, eyes wide, but he knew, he knew, and he leant across squeezing Sawamura’s fingers.

“Put yourself down,” Sawamura mumbled.

“Realism, Dai,” he replied. He flicked his attention away, meeting Tooru’s eyes. “How about you serve now? Daichi and Kuroo need practise with receives.”

“So do you, Suga-kun,” Bokuto said, completely oblivious. “We’re gonna be an amazing team, y’know.”

They managed five serves apiece before the Coach called them all over to talk about the upcoming tournament. The college was running two teams, fully staffed with subs as well as players, he said he had high hopes of doing well, even winning.

“ _No_ team is going to be a pushover. Kyoto have increased in strength and have some excellent players, including three Japan youth team members. They play fiercely, relying on attack and strength.”

“No wonder Ushiwaka’s gone there,” Tooru whispered to Sawamura, when they’d split again into groups.

“His type of play,” Sawamura agreed.

“Not just him though,” Suga pointed out. “He’s only a first year like us.”

“Yeah, you lot are far too obsessed with one player,” Kuroo said. “Like, I get that he was good, and you all did well beating that team, but –” he broke off and shrugged, “- There’s no guarantee any of us’ll make the teams – Ushiwaka included.”

“Defeatist talk, Kuroo-chan,” Tooru scolded. “I’ll be there with my Ace, and you can bet your last yen note that Ushiwaka-chan will be facing me. It’s not in his nature to be ignored.” He touched Bokuto on the arm. “Join me on an early morning run, yes?”

Bokuto’s eyes gleamed, on fire with anticipation. “I’m setting two alarms on my phone already.”

Kuroo shrugged again, but instead of coming back with a smart remark, he stayed silent for much of the practise. He was lethargic in some of his movements, Tooru noticed, circles under his eyes and a stretched look to his mouth, tension hanging in his shoulders. When he did make a comment, he was belligerent rather than caustic. But he stayed for the whole session, digging in to pull off a spectacular set of blocks against one of the second year Wing Spikers.

“Play like that, and you’ll be in the team for sure,” Tooru said, adding a smile as they strolled to the changing rooms. “Fancy joining Bokuto and me for a run.”

“Nope.”  the answer was short, snapped out, but Kuroo was also yawning so it wasn’t necessarily rude. He sighed. “I’m working as well as studying. Getting up at five for a run is the one thing I’ll have to drop.”

“Sawamura, Suga – you want to join us?”

“No,” Suga replied, very quickly.

“No chance he’ll get up in time. I might, though.” Sawamura was whistling, nonchalant and calm. He was like that after practise, Tooru had noticed, more assured of his abilities, or at least knowing what furrow he needed to plough – not intimidated by the older students, despite the glaring height differences.

“Just don’t wake me up when you get out of -” Suga complained, then clapped his hand over his mouth, realising he’d been a little too loud. “Uh ... when you close the ... uh ... door.”

“Nice save, Koushi-chan,” Tooru said, giving him a wink. “Make a Libero out of you yet.”

But Suga was flushing, not just from the exercise, and he wouldn’t meet Tooru’s eyes or Sawamura’s. “I’ll skip pork buns,” he said instead. “Need to take Morisuke some udon, and if you have those notes for him, Oikawa-san.”

And Suga didn’t bother showering, pulling on his tracksuit bottoms over his kit and zipping up his top. Telling the others he’d make a start with food, not even laughing when Sawamura begged him (good-naturedly) not to add chillies, he waited by Tooru’s locker while the others went into the showers.

“Secrecy getting you down, Koushi-chan?” Tooru murmured.

He was in the middle of shaking his head, but then he gazed up at Tooru. “Sometimes.” He smiled, a thin line showing no teeth.  “Sorry, I’m having one of those days. Literature was hard work. I have an assignment due, and something for Psychology, and I’ve barely started either.” He puffed out his cheeks. “I was so organised at school. I even took work away with me to Nationals, but here ... my concentration is shot to crap at times. I love sharing, but we’re all on different schedules, and the apartment block is really noisy, so it’s hard to shut myself away.”

_Be kind,_ he thought again, but really he didn’t need any urging. “If you want to study with me, Suga, then feel free. You can come over if that helps.”

“Oh ... thank you.” He looked surprised, and touched. “I’ll ... um ... think about it.” Then he chuckled. “You called me Suga, not Koushi, Oikawa-kun. Are you mellowing?”

“Absolutely not.  But, while we’re on the subject, you can call me Tooru, if you’d like.”

He considered, looking happier than he had before, and nodded. “Tooru-chan.”

“No.”

“Aww, please,” he said, giggling. “Tooru-chaaaaan.”

“Stop.”

***

A routine emerged over the next week. Tooru would wake, meet Sawamura on the corner near the park, and then they’d wait for Bokuto, who was always late, but not desperately so.  Bokuto would arrive with his training top already tied around his waist, jogging from the college, and lively despite the early hour.

“Where do you get all this energy?” Sawamura grumbled, when Bokuto had put on a spurt, yelling at them to keep up. “I thought your hall mates kept you up all night.”

“I discovered sleeping in the afternoon. It’s easier. C’mon, Sawamura-kun, this is the best time of the day. Not so much traffic. Air gets into your lungs, not fumes.”

“I can’t keep up,” Sawamura cautioned Tooru. “I’ll catch you when he’s slowed.”

Knowing stamina was Sawamura’s strong point, Tooru joined Bokuto, relishing the chance to sprint. He was faster now, working harder at practise had increased his pace, and his lungs were stronger, too. He could feel an ache in the back of his legs, but running through it, burning up the ground as he scorched forwards with Bokuto was life affirming. He might not be able to practise volleyball _all_ the time, but this was glorious.

And when they flagged, as inevitably they did, Sawamura was at their backs, steaming alongside them, wry grin on his face and thighs pounding like twin engines.

“You two are looking good,” he huffed. “You’re on course for a team spot, I’m sure of it.”

“You, too, Sawamura,” Tooru replied, not just being polite, because the appreciation he’d had for Sawamura’s solidity in Miyagi, had increased since starting college.

“Ah, not sure about that. Next time, maybe.”

“You’re good,” Tooru put in. “Maybe some extra practise with us and ...”

“Not with the degree I’m doing,” he explained. “Law’s tough. No, I’m not saying your degrees aren’t. Suga’s given me enough earache over how hard he works, but ... uh ... let’s just say it’s very competitive. I’ve had to start looking at internships, and I’m not even at the end of the year.”

“You ain’t dumping volleyball, are ya?” Bokuto’s face fell, real horror etched in the lines round his mouth.

Sawamura’s eyes glinted. “No chance. I’m here partly because of the scholarship, but I still have to focus on the wider picture.” He increased the pace, pumping with his arms. “Second year, I’ll definitely make the team. This year, if I can be a reserve, then I’ll be happy. I’m not tall or strong enough... yet.”

“Glad to hear you’re fighting,” Tooru said. “And Suga-chan?”

“Hmm, he talks about knowing his limits.” Sawamura grimaced and swallowed before continuing. “I can’t push him too far, I know that, but ... uh ... encouragement from anyone can work wonders.” And then he wiped his hand over his face. “He likes studying with you. He says he can concentrate better. Funny that. When we were away, it was the studying that stopped him worrying too much about the game, but now it’s become more important to him, and volleyball’s the distraction.”

“And that upsets you?”

“No ... no, ‘course not. But we’re not the same as we were at school. It’s only been six months since Nationals, but we’ve changed so much.” He came to a halt, hands on his hips, taking gulping breaths. “I love it, you know? Just being here and together. Just ... uh, don’t tell Sug, he’ll get far too cocky.”

***

After checking with Fujita that it really was okay for him to not only go to the film, but also to bring Bokuto, Tooru found himself standing waiting in the auditorium of the cinema at four the following Saturday. Bokuto wandered up later, all smiles and chat, making a beeline for the popcorn stand. He’d been pleased to be ask, only drooping a little when he found out it was subtitled, but when Tooru had said it was about aliens, and very silly, he’d nodded acceptance.

But looking at him now, seeing him hide a huge yawn behind his fist, Tooru wondered if he’d actually make it through to the end of the movie. Expensive way to sleep, he supposed, but then Bokuto said he grabbed naps when he could these days.

_Buy earplugs,_ Kuroo had suggested sourly when Bokuto had looked sluggish at practise. _You can’t keep crashing at ours._

_Move out,_ Yaku had said. _Apply for a transfer. Maybe a mixed hall would be better._

Shirofuku had already suggested that, apparently, but there’d been no response from the college staff.

“This girl, Fujita-san, is she cute?”

“Um, yes, I suppose so. She doesn’t like volleyball, though.”

“Huh? So why are you interested?”

“I’m not,” he replied smoothly. “But she’s in my class, I get on with her, and I like sci-fi.”

“So, where is she?”

“They’ll be coming out of screen 3 soon. Our film is on Screen 5.” He handed Bokuto his ticket. “Gimme some popcorn.”

“Thought you didn’t like junk food,” Bokuto complained, but held out the large box.

“Popcorn doesn’t count. Also you haven’t got the sweet stuff, so this is ... um ... fibre.” He grabbed a handful, stuffing some into his mouth before Bokuto could object (he didn’t) then munched happily. The popcorn was salty and hot, melting in his mouth. He’d always been weak for it, hating having to share with his sister, so in the end his mum had caved and bought them individual boxes. Her generosity had extended to Iwa-chan, whenever he’d been invited, and used to sharing with his dad and mum, Hajime had taken it slowly, then left some by the end, giving the rest to Tooru.

“Hey, no more!” Bokuto protested. “Buy your own!”

“One more handful,” Tooru said, making a show of begging. He pouted and fluttered his eyelashes, but Bokuto, completely non-plussed by the manoeuvre, backed away.

“Oi, watch it!” snapped someone. “Oh, Bokuto, it’s you.”

“Kato-kun, hey, hey, how ya doing? Come to see a movie?”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” the man shot back, jovial and smiling. He gestured to the group behind him. “Some of my Film Studies class.”

“Ah! You must be Fujita-kun’s friends,” Tooru said. “We’re supposed to be meeting her, but I’m not sure where she ...” He trailed off because the guy – Kato – the one Bokuto knew had done a double-take.

Tooru frowned a bit, recognising him from somewhere, but not quite able to place him. He wasn’t a volleyball player, or on his course, but there was still a familiarity about him, one that wasn’t altogether making Tooru feel comfortable. Unless that was the glare coming from the man’s eyes.

“You’re with this guy,” Kato demanded.

“Ah, yeah.” With wary eyes, Bokuto made rapid introductions, adding to Tooru, “Kato-kun’s in my hall.”

“We’ve met,” Kato said, stone-faced.

“Have we?” Tooru perused him, eyes travelling over the man’s face, and then he remembered. “Oh, yes.” He smiled. “The night after Suga-chan’s party. You were in the kitchen when Konoha and I were leaving.” He dismissed him, scanning the group for Fujita.

“Suga-chan?” Kato asked, and his voice had taken on a higher pitch, girlish and light.

“Uh ... yeah,” Bokuto replied. He coughed. “Sugawara’s been round a couple of times with Sawamura.”

“The pretty boy.” Kato laughed – not at all nicely, but hard and bitter, vinegar dripping from him.

And Tooru knew he should stay silent prepare to defend and lap up the pressure, but something about this particular attack, on someone that wasn’t here to defend himself, was thumping at his chest.

‘Pretty boy’ – the words had been used for him so many times. It was supposedly an insult – at least that’s how the abusers had meant it, but Tooru had risen above it by playing up to the image, growing his hair, making sure it flopped becomingly, smiling – always smiling – as insults rained on him, as girls flocked to him, matching their expressions to his own.

Iwa-chan had wanted to thump the bullies at Middle School, but Tooru had known the only way to drown out the slurs was with louder voices, and the cheers and plaudits he received on court were worth any across the corridor remarks.

At Seijou, he’d filled out, grown taller, and although he kept the floppy hair and deliberately pretty smile, no one took him on.

He’d thought it would be different in Tokyo away from the small minds of a small town.  But there were the same midde school attitudes in little town brains, and it stung even when not directed at him.

But he’d be damned if he was going to let an idiot like Kato see it.

 “Would you like me to pass on your thoughts or would you,” he stepped closer, smiling lazily before he pouted, “prefer to compliment me instead?”

“Ugh!  Get off me!” Kato backed away, his face puce now, no longer joking.

“I’m not _on_ you,” Tooru drawled, but he took a step away, folding his arms across his chest. “And you needn’t worry, as I told you before, you are really not my type.”

There was a faint ripple of laughter, present and then hurriedly stifled as Kato twisted around. “Don’t listen to him. Ugh, you make it sound like ... ughh, stop it. Why are you?  UGHH!” He reined in the spittle flying from his lips, swiping his mouth with his hand, then pointed accusingly, straight to Tooru. “That guy is gay, Bokuto! You know that, don’t you, dumbass!”

Riled now (because it was one thing for Kuroo to yell at Bokuto being a dumbass when he missed a shot, but at least he was their dumbass) Tooru reached out to grab Kato’s shirt front. But someone got their first, and before he’d got within touching distance, Bokuto had whipped away his arm and stepped between them.

“Don’t bother me,” he said, shrugging. And then he turned away, guiding Tooru with his hand. “We gonna see this film, or what?”

He heard a mumble of words, but Bokuto was insistent and pressing.

“You’re quite a diplomat on the quiet, aren’t you, Boku-chan?” Tooru murmured. “Thank you.”

“I’ve been friends long enough with Kuroo to recognise trouble.” He smiled a little. “Hangin’ out with that guy’s like walkin’ through a field planted with landmines.” Now ...” He looked towards Screen 5. “Where’s that girl we’re meeting? And will you keep your hands outta my popcorn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; I had a very busy weekend. 
> 
> Devil Girl from Mars is a real film, and it's as ridiculous as it sounds.


	24. Rookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from the Chibis, and Hajime has his first match in charge.

“Where have you been?”

“Library,” Hajime lied on reflex as he toed off his shoes and chucked his bag on the floor by the door. “I did mention it, Mum.”

“And you couldn’t answer your phone!” She emerged from the kitchen, a knife in her hand and an onion in the other, and he would have laughed, except that she’d now asked _the_ question, and he still hadn’t thought up a story.  “Did you even check it?”

He winced, knowing he’d have to say something now. “Um ... about that .. I ...”

“I needed you to pick up Saburo from school, but you didn’t answer, so you can bloody well go and do it now!”

“Um ... sure ... uh ... where is he?”

“At his friends. Go and get him now.”

“And Koji?” He tried a smile, but his mum wasn’t smiling at all, and as he got closer he saw lines of worry etched around her face. This was no normal temper flash with her, but something deeper. “Mum, what’s up?”

“I had to go to the hospital,” she said.

“Shit! You’re okay, right?”

“Yes, yes, _I’m_ fine, but Koji’s broken his wrist. And I told you this, but clearly you decided not to check your phone. Really, Hajime, how many times do I tell you to keep it charged? I need you to be more responsible, especially with the baby coming.”

_Okay, broken wrist, not that bad._

“I get it. Sorry. I’ll get Sab now. Can I take the car?” She scowled. “I’ll walk then, or bike it.”

“Go and charge your phone!”

He stopped moving, his hand stayed on the door handle and swallowing he knew he had to tell her. “Um, slight problem.”

“What?”

“I’ve ... uh .... lost my phone.”

“What do you mean lost?” she demanded, and gesticulated wildly, waving the knife.   “In the house?”  He shook his head.  “At school? Can you call the school? Check lost property?”

“Um ... not exactly.”

She blinked first, then approached and the knife suddenly looked a lot more threatening. “Tell me.”

“I went jogging and ... um ... dropped it in the sea.”

“Jogging.”

“Mmm.”

“On the beach.”

He nodded.

“That was on _Sunday_!” As she twisted around, dropping the onion on the floor, he bent to pick it up, almost clashing his head against hers. “And you’ve only thought to tell me now! Three days later!”

“Because ... I’ve been fine,” he gabbled back. “No one needs to get in touch with me, and if they have it’s been at school or –”

“The landline. No wonder you’ve been so popular!”

“Yeah, and email, when it’s set up. It’s been fine ...really, Mum.”

“It’s not fine!” she screamed. “What if it had been something really serious and I’d not been able to get hold of you. What if Koji had fallen on his head and not his wrist? You are _so_ thoughtless!”

“I’m sorry, alright!”

“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s what bloody hurts, Hajime, because you decided to lie -”

“I  DIDN’T LIE!” he yelled, stung. “I just didn’t ... tell you straight away.”

“And why not!”

He held up his hands as if in supplication. “Why d’you think? Because I knew you’d react like this, okay! I lost my fucking phone, and I know it was expensive and I’m sorry, all right. I’m not expecting you to bail me out. My fault. My fucking problem!”

“React like this?” She stared at him, her eyes wide and then laughed - a bitter dry sound. “Of course I’m going to be angry. It’s not the _phone_ , Hajime. That’s not the issue. It’s you lying to me! You’ve always been the same, too bloody scared of the consequences, and it only makes it ten times worse!”

She turned away, stomping back to the kitchen, and then one of the doors opened, and Koji slunk out looking mopey, his wrist encased in a brightly coloured cast.

“’Lo,” he mumbled.

“Hey, does that hurt?” Hajime asked, trying to simmer down, but his mum’s fury was raging inside him now. He crouched down by Koji, slipping his shoes back on. “Did you choose that colour?”

He nodded. “I was gonna pick Seijou colour, but ... um ... I liked this blue better.”

“Kitigawa Daiichi – great choice,” Hajime said. He was breathing easier now, and he ruffled Koji’s hair.

“I won’t be able to play for ages,” Koji said, the corners of his mouth turning downwards.  “Doctor said weeks.”

“Be over quickly,” Hajime said, “and it’s your left, so you can still write.”

Koji snorted, his look of disgust for that activity clear. “I’m allowed to play on my Nintendo, though. Doctor said it would help exercise my fingers.”

“There you go. It’s not too bad,” Hajime soothed. “And we can practise in the summer, so you won’t miss too much.”

His mum clattered a pan in the kitchen. “GO AND GET YOUR BROTHER!” she shouted, and then she poked her head back around the door, softening when she saw Koji, to add in a gruffer voice, “Car keys are on the side. Take Koji with you, and buy them ice cream or something, while I get on with dinner.”

***

The article for the magazine was on the screen. He’d finished most of it, but was reading through again, checking for typos and any other errors. Learning that Yachi was part of the magazine group had disconcerted him a little, and although he hoped this hadn’t in any way influenced his report, he didn’t want any issue with bias to rear its ugly head.

Datekou had been the better side. Not by much, and there were clear signs that Karasuno could inflict another defeat come the Inter-Highs, but it would be a close match if they faced each other. If Karasuno got that far.

He deleted a sentence. Karasuno should make it through to the quarters with no real issue. He’d seen the fixtures, and they looked to have a reasonable run until the quarters, and then they’d face (if it went to plan) Johenzi. Another team whose second years had taken over for the Spring High. Another team who could shake things up. On their day, they’d rampage through their opposition.

_It’s such a pity it’s so rarely their day._

The drawl floated in front of him, and he almost added that sentence in the paragraph looking to the future, but it was not his sentence or sentiment. Instead he rewrote, shaking up the rather bland ending, with a warning about unpredictable teams, and that was why volleyball was so exciting.

_And send._

Someone tapped on his door. Calling out ‘come in’, he was surprised to see his mum holding two mugs in her hand.

“Have you calmed down?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows, about to say that it hadn’t been him that needed to chill, but she smiled wryly at him. “I won’t bite, so may I come in?”

“Course.”  He spun around in his chair, accepting the cup of tea from her and waited as she sat on his chair.

“What’s that you’re working on?”

“Uh ... Literature stuff. Writing articles,” he said, and then as this seemed to be the day for confessing, he took a breath. “Karasuno have a school magazine and ... uh ... my sensei submitted something I’d written to it, and they want me to write more.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head to the side. “That sounds fun.”

“Uh... sort of.” He put the tea on his desk. “It’s good for college credits, too. Will make up for not playing.”

“Hmm, it won’t make up for grades, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered, and looked down at his hands.

“But it can’t harm your application.” She was trying, he could tell that, and he knew the reason she pushed so hard was out of love, wanting the best for him, so he had the chances they’d struggled to provide. And then she coughed. “About your phone.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for a volley of reprimands, but to his surprise, they never came. “I’m not going to say I’m not disappointed. I wish you’d felt you could tell us.”

_Oh, hell, guilt tripping is far worse._

“And we can’t afford to get you another iPhone yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” he said. “I really don’t expect one.”

“But you can have your dad’s old one.”

Ah, the brick. About ten years old and mouldering in a drawer. The emergency phone, with a flip cover and scratched screen. No internet, no camera, but he could send texts and make calls.

“I’m surprised you didn’t dump it when we moved,” he joked. “How did it escape your decluttering purge?”

“Ha, I have second sight. Every mother does. We know our idiot sons mess up.” She got to her feet. “But we love them anyway.”

He choked on the lump swelling in his throat. “Thank you. I’ll try to stop messing up.”

“I know. Just talk to me, Hajime, that’s all I ask.”

_Mum, I’m coaching a volleyball team and we have our first match in two days time. Help!_  Nope, he wasn’t broaching that one yet.

***

The arena where the Girls tournament was held was smaller than Sendai. Hajime had been warned it couldn’t compare, and he wasn’t surprised because a number of schools didn’t run any girls teams, so the pool was that much smaller. 

In the end, he was pleasantly surprised. Instead of the large and imposing Prefectural stadium, the minibus dropped them off outside a smaller gym, a bit like a leisure centre. It reminded him very much of the set up at Little Tykes, and he breathed easier, because at least they wouldn’t be put off by large crowds, or too many empty seats in the stands.

“Thank Matsukawa-san for bringing us,” he called out, but the girls were way ahead of him, already bowing to Mattsun’s father.

“This is good of your dad,” Hajime said, turning to Mattsun.

“He’s cool about it. Sorry, I couldn’t drive you, but I’m not allowed yet.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to watch. Not sure anyone else will, and I thought you’d bomb over to Sendai.”

His lips twitched. “I’m going to at some stage, but Seijou aren;t playing in the early rounds, and ... uh ... Makki’s texting me.”

“You don’t think the girls are gonna win the tournament then?”

“Iwaizumi-kun, I love you, you know that, so I’m not going to lie to you. You might get through your first match. If it was up to me, you would, but –”

“We’re due to face Queens in the second round. Yeah, I know.” He puffed out his cheeks, letting the air whistle through his teeth. “I promised they wouldn’t be humiliated. That’s all.”

“And your first round opposition?”

“It’s been hard getting much information , but Ishigawa High are mainly second and first years. Their Setter’s a third year. I think she went to Kitigawa – she looked familiar from the team photo. She’s Captain, too.”

“Your eyes are gleaming.”

“Because I think we have a chance, the team’s determined, and they’ve started to pull together some shots.”

“But?”

Looking across at Sugawara as she fiddled with her bag strap, causing it to fall off her shoulder, he gritted his teeth. “Nerves. How the fuck do I keep them calm?”

“Come on, you’ve been in enough locker rooms. How did you relax before a game?”

“I didn’t. I played better when _he_ was winding me up!”

The minibus drove away, beeping them goodbye and Mattsun’s dad shouting ‘Good Luck’ out of the window.  He’d said to call him, and he’d send someone to pick them up, but the girls also had their bus passes and he wasn’t sure they’d stay together once they were out.

Mattsun was silent. He picked up the bag of water bottles, and motioned to Misa, who was corralling the girls into a semicircle. “Think she’s got it in hand. It’s not like you can go into the changing room, anyway.”

“That’s a point.”

“Just give ‘em a rousing speech, then ... uh ...”

“Rousing speeches aren’t my thing either. I could whack them on the head like I did with Kyoutani, but don’t think that’ll help.”

Mattsun laughed, chuckling from his chest. “I think you’re more nervous than they are.”

_Too right. Once they get on that court, I can’t do a fucking thing._

Ishigawa High, he was pleased to see didn’t have the advantage of height. They also had one less player than the eleven on the Karasuno team. It boded well, but taking nothing for granted, he still assembled them in front of him, and took a deep breath.

“There’s not much I can tell you now,” he began, searching the back of his mind for any scraps of inspiration. “We’ve practised hard, and worked out certain moves. We don’t know much about the other team.” He quelled Misa’s warning glare with a flap of his hand. “And they know nothing about us, so ... it’s a clean canvas.  Keep your blocks tight, watch where their Setter tosses and ... uh ... jump.”

“That it?” Misa muttered from the corner of her mouth.

“Win,” he said, far more firmly, staring them all in the eye. He held up his hand, high fived Misa, then Oshiro, making his way down the line, finally getting to Sugawara.

She was shaking and her pale skin seemed paler than ever, no roses in her cheeks and even her lips appeared bloodless. “You can do this,” he whispered.

“I’m not good enough,” she whimpered, and clutched her hands. “What if I –”

A thousand thoughts and then a thousand more swirled his mind, all leading to the same conclusion, that he had no idea how to handle this. Oikawa at his most forlorn had never looked as out of place as this. He’d always had a self-belief at his core. Kindaichi, though, had blanched on facing Shiratorizawa, and Hajime clapped him on the back, hoping to imbue some strength. But Sugawara looked so fragile, and slim as a reed, that he didn’t dare use the same encouragement in case she bruised and folded.  _Should I take her hands? She looks cold? But what if that upsets her more._

Before his first game for Kitigawa - his first starting game -he’d tried to escape to the toilet. He’d only just come back from a visit, and Oikawa – noticing - had taken him by the shoulders. “I believe in you,” he’d said.

And Hajime had laughed because that line coming from a thirteen year old boy had sounded ridiculous , like something he’d seen on TV the night before. Oikawa had pouted, annoyed when Hajime had snorted. But it had worked.

_We won. I scored my first point off one of his tosses. And I felt unstoppable._

Placing his hands on Sugawara’s shoulders, he whispered, “I believe in you. Now, go out there and play.”

The shakes lessened a touch. She didn’t laugh, but gave him a wobbly sort of smile. Then Misa approached, placing an arm across her shoulders, met Hajime’s eyes to nod a thank you, and guided her away for the warm up.

_I need to stay positive and work on our options._

But with eleven players, there were no real options. His benchwarmers weren’t pinch servers and couldn’t sub in for the Setter or the Libero.

_I just need you to get it together, and to trust in yourselves. And I need to trust in you and hope Ishigawa High will be as inexperienced as we are._

Something brushed against his head and dropped by his feet. A scrunched up piece of paper, he picked it up and as he began to unfold it, a shout assailed him. “Oi, up here!”

He waved at Mattsun, now above him with a takeaway cup of coffee and a bag of sweets.

“Don’t frown,” he said, and leaning over the rail, he smiled his lopsided grin.

“How can you tell?” Hajime demanded, trying to unknit his brows.

“You’re hunched over. Watch your team, they’re warming up and gonna be good!”

“I’m trying, but some twat keeps distracting me.”

There was a hush, and a scandalised gasp from the opposing team manager, and a scowl from their coach, a woman, in an Ishigawa tracksuit top and bottoms.

She looked the part, and both were currently eyeing him as an imposter.

Remembering he did have some kit, Hajime pulled off his hoodie, and reached for the training top they’d given him. Then he looped the id pass around his head, and stood up, hands in his pockets, preparing to yell something instructive or inspiring.

He thought he heard his name, but looking around, he couldn’t see where it had come from, and deciding it must have been in his head, or else Mattsun playing silly buggers again, he twisted his face up to him, intent on telling him to quit.  But Mattsun wasn’t even looking his way, instead he was lolling back on his seat, drinking coffee his feet up on the rail.

_I’m imagining things now. Shit, this is worse than playing._

Then the referee whistled to signal the end of the warm up, and both teams took their places on the court. He glanced across at the opposition noting their Setter was in the vanguard. She was taller than Sugawara, and with an expression of fierce concentration. His eyes flicked away and then back to the coach and manager, wondering if they were still scandalised by his presence.  The coach was watching her girls, and the manager was too, but her ponytail was bobbing from side to side as if she’d been looking to the side, and then hurriedly looked away.

 

They started slow. Misa, winning the toss, elected to serve first, then she took responsibility and promptly served into the net. The captain from the opposite side rolled her shoulders in response, and then their number three span the ball between her fingers.

It was a practised move, and one that could make her appear more accomplished than she was – perhaps that was her intent because the Karasuno girls appeared to tense even more on seeing her begin a run up, whereas the Ishigawa team were noticeably relaxed.

Unfortunately, she didn’t need to pretend. She threw the ball up high, jumped, arched her back and slammed the ball down hard into the corner.

Service ace.

“What was –”

“We’ll get the next one!” Misa shouted.

The girl bounced the ball again, took a breath, and then walked past the baseline.  Same MO, same result, slammed into the corner, and even though Misa had moved to cover, she only just got to it.

Service Ace.

“Don’t mind!” Hajime yelled. “You got a touch.”

The next ball, she sent down the middle. The exposed middle because Oshiro had shifted to the side. Classic rookie mistake.

_Jeez. Shall I call a timeout? Isn’t it too early? But four zero down. Shit!_

Their number three was spinning the ball again, holding it to her mouth as if imparting some terrible secret. Hajime got to his feet, wondering if a better view would give him an insight into how to tackle this.

And as she started her run up, as she tossed the ball high into the air, a shriek rang out through the stadium.

“IT _IS_ HIM! LOOK!”

Whether it was the shout, he didn’t know, but the serve this time skimmed the net and slowing down it landed straight into their middle blocker’s path. Overcome with surprise, she nonetheless managed to scoop it up with her arms and hoist towards Sugawara. It was short, but somehow she stumbled to it, twisting her body as she prepared to toss.

And it was obvious who she’d toss to. The left hand Wing Spiker was already in place, Sugawara’s form screamed that she was sending it to her, and he closed his eyes at the predictability.

What he hadn’t counted on though, was that although he knew who was about to hit it, the Ishigawa side seemed totally nonplussed, and failed to block the spike.

“ALL RIGHT!” he yelled, and smiled. _One point on the board._

It was Aimi’s serve. She wasn’t especially powerful, but she could aim, and watching three powerful serves hadn’t cowed her at all, but it had given her an increased determination.

It floated, landing in front of their number three, who took a misstep and hoofed the ball over the net.

“Chance Ball!” yelled Sugawara. She tossed high and behind, and although there was no one there, right at that moment, Misa came charging up from the right, leapt in the air, connected and spiked with all her might.

Four – two.

“GREAT SHOT!” yelled Mattsun, cupping his hands to echo the sound. “GO, GO KARASUNO! SCORE MORE, KARASUNO. GO, GO KARASUNO.”

Raising his eyebrows at the improvised chant, Hajime was about to turn and grin, when he heard more cheers

“Go, go, Karasuno! Score more, Karasuno! Go, go Karasuno!”

“We have fans?” said Oshiro from the sidelines. “Wow. Who are they?”

He twisted around, scanning the stand, but it didn’t take him long. To the side of Matsukawa stood a group of girls, leaning over the rails and cheering them on. They weren’t in black, they weren’t wearing the Karasuno uniform, but rather a mix of colours turquoise and lavender, cream and white.

_Seijou girls,_ he thought and felt a laugh bubbling through him. _How the hell did you manage that, Mattsun?_

With the background encouragement, Aimi served again, this time it hit the net, but luck was on their side and it tipped over landing far too short for the Ishigawa wing spiker to get remotely close.

They called a time out.

It was early in the game, too early probably. And Hajime remembered Coach Irihata telling him there was only one reason to do that –panic.

“I let you find your rhythm,” he’d told them all. “Disrupting the opposition’s rhythm can come later.”

“Drink some water,” he ordered. “And just carry on. You’re doing well.”

“Their number three is a beast!” Misa complained, showing her red arms to them all.

“Yeah, but I get the feeling she’s their only weapon. Don’t underestimate any of them – particularly their Setter –but she’s the main threat.”

“How can you tell?” Misa asked.

“They visibly relaxed when she had the ball. They’re expecting a point. I kinda used to do that, too.” He paused. “Which is a bad thing, alright? Even the best fuck – uh ... I mean ... make mistakes.”

“So when she serves again, we need to think about stopping it, but also where to place it after, right?” Misa said, casting a look around the team. “Got it!”

“Okay, back on. Keep it up.”

“Push it, push it, Hajime!” screamed one of the girls above them.

“Coach-san, they’re _your_ fanclub,” Oshiro said and laughed.

“Ha, I don’t think so. Think they might have watched Seijou a few times, that’s all.”

“HAJIMEEEEEE!”

He blushed, then gritting his teeth, he spent the last few moments of the time out, telling them to watch the Setter before he sent them back on court.

It was early days, but as he suspected, Ishigawa’s main strength was in their number three. Their Setter could read the game, but she didn’t have that all encompassing intuition. She played it safe, knowing where their strengths lay. He couldn’t blame her – it was their best chance of any victory – but it was predictable.

My team can read you too well.

He brought himself up short. _My team. Yeah, I guess they are._

They won the first set, twenty-five to nineteen. Ishigawa’s last points being won again on their Wing Spiker’s serve, but Misa and Oshiro had a handle on it by the end, and she was tiring, even though it was only the first set.

They changed ends, Hajime picking up his bag, leaving the subs to push the water bottle trolley.

“Come on. Second set. I want to see you jump!”

 

***

They were a strange group in the atrium after. Misa and Aime, heads held high, Sugawara pink in the face, and a little trembly as she fiddled again with her bag, and the rest of them murmuring the odd aside, then smacking their lips together as if speech were forbidden. Only Oshiro had cried. Rage and fury subsiding to disappointment, because she’d tried so hard and not given up, even when the final serve skeltered over the net. She’d got to it, hoofing it towards Sugawara, who’d set to Aime. And she’d not missed, but it had been blocked – again – and by a far better side.

_Okay, here goes._

He cleared his throat. They all flinched.  “They’re a good side,” he said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Twenty five – eight in the second set,” Oshiro choked.

“Twenty five – sixteen in the first – that’s not so bad,” Hajime countered. “It was a tough game – the toughest – but look at this way, you got through one match. You beat another team, and facing Queens in the second round was really the worst luck of the draw.”

“We won a game,” Misa intoned and sniffed. Her eyes were bright, tears she’d not shed in front of him, welling like pools. “We weren’t totally humiliated, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Right. And I’m proud of you.”

“We lost. We’re out,” Oshiro said, but she didn’t sound bitter, just flat.

“You played. You stood on court. And you won.”

It was Misa who shuffled them into a semi circle around him, and taking their cue from her, they all bowed down, as if he were the opposition they were thanking for the match.

“Thank you, Iwaizumi-san for coaching us.”

His throat closed, a catch in his craw.  “Uh ... thank you, for ... um letting me,” he said gruffly. “Uh, so, as it’s early ...” He paused and smiled ruefully. “Sorry, as we have _time_ , and we’re not expected back at school, how’d’you fancy staying for drinks and a biscuit or something? I’ll buy.”

“Uhm ...” Misa exchanged looks with Oshiro. “Some of us were thinking about going to watch the boys. It’s only a short walk, and ... uh ...”

“Ah, sure.”

“You could come with us,” Sugawara ventured.

And here was the question? Did he want to? It had been eight months since he’d stepped into that stadium to play, a little less since he’d been a spectator and watched as their nemesis team had been taken down by the upstarts. Oikawa had hauled him home that day, not wanting to wait around to see their old kouhai, and he’d gone along with it, but perhaps he should have shrugged him off and waited for a chance to say ‘well done.’

“Um...” A door swung open – two girls staggered in carrying a tray of juices between them - and over their shoulders he could see someone lounging against the wall. His heart skipped and thudded for a moment, catching sight of a white tracksuit with a turquoise trim, but the figure lifted his head, waved a hand, and Hajime had to clamp down the gurgle of joy, replacing it with a smile.

Mattsun had waited for him.

He was with the three girls from the stands, all of whom were giggling and chatting, not even expecting him to join in the conversation. As Hajime walked out of the leisure centre, slouching along with Misa, they stopped their chat, and stared expectantly. He heard Misa snort, and then she gathered the girls to her, and flapped him away with a ‘see you there.’ Sugawara stared at him and then the girls with something like curiosity in her eyes, but she scurried along all the same and didn’t look back.

“Thought you were going to Sendai Stadium,” Hajime called across.

“Yeah, I will. Turns out the Johzenji game’s run on a bit, so we’re still waiting to go on.” He levered himself off the wall. “Do you want to watch with me?”

“Uhm...”

“You’re coaching now, Iwaizumi-san?” blurted out one of the girls. She smiled sunnily, a blue butterfly clip glinting in her raven black hair.

“Uh ... yeah.” He switched his attention to her, delaying the decision. “Thank you for cheering for us. It made a big difference.”

“You’re welcome,” she chimed, smiling wider. 

“They saw me and wondered what I was doing there,” Mattsun said, smirking a little, “and then they saw the coach and you couldn’t believe it, eh, girls?”

“Hmm? Yes,” breathed another of them. Her hair bounced high in a ponytail. “Why Karasuno?”

“Sorry?”

“We thought you were going to Tokyo with Oikawa-san,” she said, then bit her lip, presumably to stop a giggle because the other two were laughing.

_Ah, great, that’s why they’re familiar. Oikawa’s fanclub._ Brownie bakers, Mattsun had used to call them. Crisp on the outside, sweet and squidgy in the middle.

“You could have coached Seijou girls,” Ponytail said, pouting. “They’d have liked that. I might even have joined the club.”

Feeling irritation rising, he drew himself up to his full height, and shoved his hands into his training top pockets – the training top the girls had given him for his birthday. “I’m retaking a year,” he said, deciding not to dodge the issue. “Karasuno’s my new school. Anyway...  thanks again for supporting us.”

“We gonna get a move on?” Mattsun grumbled.  He checked his phone and frowned. “Seijou have started.”

“OH! Is Oikawa-san there?” asked Butterfly slide. “We could join you!”

“I fucking doubt –”

“Nooo,” replied Ponytail. “Oikawa-san must be in Tokyo or else he’d have come to watch Iwaizumi-san, wouldn’t he?”

 “Right, let’s go!” Mattsun said, intervening. He wended his way through them, all smiles as he thanked them again, then clapping his hand on Hajime’s back, pushed him towards the gates.

“They don’t mean it. They’re sweet girls, and they did cheer.”

“Yeah, because they thought Oikawa might be there, I bet.”

“Nah, they were more interested in you.”

“Really?” he scoffed.

“That and my charm.” He frowned. “There was another girl watching. Did you see her?”

“Didn’t notice. I had other things on my mind,” Hajime replied, waving his hand dismissively.

Not that it disturbed Mattsun. “Watched both games, too. I chatted to her a bit in the break.”

“From Seijou?” Hajime stifled a yawn.

He shook his head. “Don’t think so. She could have been a neutral, I guess, but ... dunno ... she seemed to know what she was talking about.”  With a sight shrug, Mattsun increased his pace, stretching his long legs into a loping walk, one Hajime had to scuffle to keep up with.

“You _are_ coming to watch, aren’t you?”

“Why not?” Then he halted, as a sudden thought occurred to him. “This isn’t a set up, is it?”

He didn’t have to explain, Mattsun groaned and then slapped his hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “Oikawa’s not there, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good.”

“You mean that?”

Did he?

The photos from the party shuddered back in his mind. “I think he’s got someone else,” he admitted, the words dragging from his throat, prickly and rasping.

“Ah.”

Small word. It said everything. “You’re not surprised.”

Why would he be? Hajime had always known he was punching above his weight. Must have been obvious to everyone from the start.

“That day I spoke to his dad, he said Oikawa was on a date. I wondered.” Then he stuck his hands in his pockets. “You know he’s messaged me since the weekend. He’s been trying to call you.”

“Break it to me gently, right?”

“Or maybe he wants to talk.”

“Yeah, well.”

_‘You run away from consequences, Hajime!’_  his mum had said.

“I could give him your new number.”

“But you haven’t.”

“Nope. Haven’t even told him your phone’s lost. I figured you knew his, so you’ll talk when you want.”

“Thanks.”

Together they jogged to the stadium, not saying much more than what they expected from Seijou.

_It’s better like this. Maybe when we meet again, we can laugh it off and get back to the friends we once were._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, the poor girls, but they did well. :( 
> 
> Hajime, listen to your Mummy and learn to TALK to people.


	25. Past Flights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru faces some unhappy memories from the past, and someone gives him a good idea :D

It was the smell that woke him. Coffee – freshly brewed permeated the air from the kitchen and through his ajar bedroom door. In that moment between sleep and wakefulness, Tooru thought he was home again.  But there was something off, the light was coming in from another source, from a bed facing a smaller window. As more memories began to surface – hazy but happy – he stretched out his arm, smiling lazily.

He reached into nothing but a cool space in the bed.

_Coffee._

_I’m in Tokyo._

Instinctively he tensed. His eyes flew open but he remained still, wondering if he should curl up and pretend to still be asleep.

But burglars didn’t stop to make a drink.

It was six-thirty. Tooru levered himself out of bed, pulled on a hoodie over his pyjamas and padded out, following his nose.

Entering the kitchen, he attempted to back out, ruing the decision not to stay put.

“Tooru.”

His father reached for the percolator, pouring out a mug of coffee, adding cream, just the way Tooru liked it.

“Join me?”

“You’re here.”

He could see his dad biting back a sarcastic remark, one that if the situation had been reversed, he’d have happily quipped. “Arrived at five, but I didn’t want to wake you.” He nudged the cup across the table. “Coffee, Tooru.”

“I thought you were flying home to Miyagi?”

“I wanted to see you first?”

“Check I hadn’t spoken to Mum, I suppose.”

“Check you were okay.” He pursed his lips, then sat down on one of the chairs, proffering the other to Tooru. “Will you sit with me, Tooru? Please.”

Perhaps it was the entreaty. His dad used please sparingly, generally tagged on to the end of an order to take the sting out of it, a please said with an acid smile. But not this time.

Tooru sat.

“How are you?”

Shrugging, Tooru picked up his mug. “Fine.”

“You didn’t answer any of my messages.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy for a quick text.” His dad’s lips thinned. “I hope you treat your mother better that that!”

“And there was me thinking you’d rather I didn’t speak to her at all. You never know what might pop out of my mouth.”

“Tooru, if you want to tell your mother, then tell her.” He reached across the table, splaying his hands and only halting when Tooru stiffened in his chair, winding one leg around the other.  With a sigh, his dad leant back, but he kept his eyes fixed on Tooru’s. “It’s not your secret and I have no right to expect you to keep it.”

“I’ve said nothing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your loyalties are split in this situation.”

“Not particularly,” Tooru replied and flicked his hair off his brow. “I know _exactly_ where my loyalties lie, and I don’t want Mum upset ... again.”

 “‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’” His dad’s eyes clouded. “Who do you think pays for all of this, Tooru?”

_Spare me this story, I’ve only heard it every week of my life._

“You do, of course,” Tooru replied, his voice soft.

“If you had any understanding of the hours I’ve put in, climbing the corporate ladder to give you a better life.”

He gave his dad a smile, his ‘I’m about to serve and you’re not going to know what’s hit you,’ smile. “And where would that rung climbing have got to without Mum steadying your ‘ladder’. She’s been the perfect wife, and Neesan and I were always wheeled out to greet your clients, enhancing your image as a family man. Gosh, you must have been annoyed when Neesan blew it all having a baby and not getting married.”

His dad didn’t flinch, but fixed Tooru with his own small smile, not bitter or angry, merely resigned. “I do know how much your mother has done for me. For us, all of us. Her support is and always has been valuable and I’m acutely aware of how much I owe her.”

“And you pay her back by sleeping with a stream of assistants. Or are you going to tell me that this was a one-off? That there’s never been anyone else, or that it only a work meeting with sushi and wine.”

“You want the truth. You want numbers?” His dad said, his voice a strange mixture of calculation and mildness.

“You’ll tell me? Are you sure you can remember them all?”

“I hardly need a calculator,” his dad replied wryly. “There’ve been two women in my life, Tooru -  your mother and Gashuko-san. I’m not proud of the fact I’ve treated both of them appallingly. Gashuko has always understood that my family have to come first. She’s accepted that and never complained.”

“First? When have we come first?”

And now the words spilled out of him as the memories flooded his brain. “Weekend visits, where you arrived late on Friday and spent Saturday morning sleeping. Mum drove me to volleyball, or Iwaizumi-san. My eighth birthday, you wouldn’t even sit down for _dinner_ with us. We were in the cinema and then you disappeared. It was one weekend, Dad. _My_ birthday and you ran off to _her!_ ”

“You barely noticed, Tooru. You had Hajime-kun there and spent the whole time talking to him. Even when he’d gone, all you did was rattle on about that boy.”

Tooru laughed, bitter and low. “You’re jealous of Iwa-chan, aren’t you?  You were jealous of an eight-year-old boy, my friend. Do you know how pathetic that is?”

Sipping his coffee, his dad considered carefully before replying. “I was once told that there’s a point every parent dreads and that’s when their child first realises they’re not gods. They see the flaws in their parent. It happens in teenage years, usually, and the ripping away of that umbilical cord is both painful and lengthy.”

“What!”

“I didn’t expect my feet of clay to be exposed when you were still a boy, Tooru-chan.”

“Oh, so this is all my fault? Because I no longer idolised my father, he was forced into an affair!”

His father stopped short of actually rolling his eyes, and stifled a snort. “Sit down, you’re being melodramatic. That’s not what I said. I accept full responsibility for the affair and I was _entangled_ before we moved to Miyagi.” He paused, and behind the mask, Tooru could see his mind working. A flash in the eyes, the tiniest spark of emotion as he planned out what to say next.

_Entangled? And he calls me melodramatic! What does he think this is? A shoujo manga?_

“It was one of the reasons we moved. A fresh start, free from _distractions_ and a bigger house. A garden for you to run around in and better schools. Hoshiyo’s school life had been disrupted when we moved around, and I ... we ... didn’t want the same for you.”

“So what changed? Or were we too boring for you? It was my eighth birthday, Dad, and you couldn’t even stay around for that!” He gulped at the air, the potent smell of the coffee now giving him the hint of a headache. “You had your phone out in the cinema, I remember.”

“That!” His father at least refrained from rolling his eyes. “Gashuko-san’s mother had died. She needed someone – needed me – and you expect me to have ignored her so I could sit and eat a bowl of jelly?”

“I was EIGHT!” he yelled, then bit his lip, pressing so hard he was sure he’d draw blood, but  the pain was necessary, anything to keep him in this reality and not lose him to the past.

 

(He’s seven, new to Miyagi, and meeting a scowling boy with plasters on his knees and a smudge of dust on his nose. ‘Invite Iwa-chan round, Mummy. He’s my friend!’

He’s eight and refusing ice cream with Iwa-chan because his dad’s arriving back from Tokyo.

_You were late. I didn’t see you until Sunday and then all you and Mum did was argue._

He’s twelve and whooping round the house because Iwa-chan’s going to Kitigawa Daiichi with him.

He’s fifteen and they’re looking at the gym at Seijou. The older boys nod disparagingly, then their expressions change from boredom to interest when after Iwa-chan whispers something, Tooru picks up a ball and serves.

He’s eighteen and leading a line up. He’s ready to acknowledge the support as he must, but he waits, _he waits, he waits_ , because his Ace isn’t quite there. He glances down the row of players, sees the stubborn set to Iwa-chan’s face and the damming of tears, and finally leads the bow.

He’s eighteen and kissing a boy with a fierceness and passion he’d never felt kissing girls.

And Iwa-chan stretches for a ball, too far, too fast, and the scream as his knee rips apart rents the air.

_No!_

He’s seven again and running as fast as he can, but he can’t catch the boy in front. He can’t catch the fastest boy in the world, and it’s wonderful. It’s glorious to watch him fly and transcends any jealousy that someone might _just_ be better at something than Oikawa Tooru.)

 

“We did try to end it, several times, but then I worked away so often. Your mother had the house, your sister had her passion for art, and you found Iwaizumi-kun. None of you needed me,” his father was saying, the words dragging Tooru back to small kitchen, and his coffee awash with cream.

And it was so self-pitying, that Tooru could only stare back his lip curling in disgust. “So it is all our fault. We drove you to it!”

“You’re deliberately twisting everything I say. It made me feel a little less guilty, Tooru, that’s all.”

It was the way he spoke that made no sense. Rational, as if this were a board meeting, or a talk on team tactics. So planned, he wondered if his dad had used the time away to write and memorise his arguments. A business decision, and one that Tooru shouldn’t have been a part of. Except he was, because now he knew, now he had the certain proof of his father’s confession.

“I’m going for a jog.”

“It’s early.”

“So? I’m usually up and out by now. The guys will wonder where I am.” He was lying, Bokuto had said the night before he wasn’t coming out today, and Sawamura had cried off after pulling an all-nighter on an essay.

“Then let’s talk this through again when you’re back. I’ll make you breakfast and –” He reached out, plucking Tooru’s arm to twist him around.

“Don’t.” Tooru shook him off.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” his dad said. “That’s what I needed to say to you, Tooru. That’s why I’ve been trying to contact you. I swore I’d never lay a hand on you or your sister, and I never have before.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“I need you to understand.”

 “No, you need me to agree with you,” Tooru replied, “and that’s a different thing. Jury’s out, Dad, but don’t expect the verdict you want.”

His dad returned to the table, picking up both mugs before pouring their contents down the sink.  “For the record, the only issue I ever had with Takeru’s birth was how it impacted Hoshiyo’s life. She’s given up a lot to raise him, and that’s an acutely hard decision to make at anytime of life, not least when you’re taking a degree.”

“Gosh, how big of you. Don’t worry, you may not get Father of the year award, but if you hold out long enough, I’m sure the Grandfather award’s negotiable.”

His dad wrenched at the tap, the water coming out in a fierce torrent that landed on the cup’s surface and ricocheted up, splattering water on the draining board and his shirt. “It _pains_ me you’re so bitter. You’re nearly an adult, and yet, everything is so black and white to you it’s like reasoning with a toddler again. No one can stain your perfect vision, can they, Tooru-chan?” His dad began to laugh, ugly and clipped. “God help Hajime if he ever lets you down!”

“I’m going! Don’t worry, I’ll bunk at friends until you’re gone. You won’t have to see me.”

More laughter, and despite the drenching, he looked oddly dignified. “And now you’re a martyr. Well done.”

“Get it from you,” Tooru snapped. “But unlike you, I wouldn’t dream of trying to force anyone to see my point of –”

He was at the door when the words chimed back at him discordantly.

_What was I saying?_ But it was too late to backtrack.

“What’s the weather like on that pedestal you’ve flown up to, Tooru?” his dad barked.

“Sunny,” Tooru said, trying to drawl, to show how effortlessly _unbothered_ he was. “Blue skies and no clouds.”

“Well, don’t burn those wings of yours,” his dad snarled. “And if you do happen to crash land, take care not to injure too many of us fallible mortals!”

***

The cafe on the corner was open and not busy when he walked past. Backtracking, Tooru slunk in, ordered a latte and a Danish, then found himself a seat near the window. Remembering the last time, he’d not stormed out immediately (it had hardly been practical as he’d still been in pyjamas) but closeting himself in his room, he sprayed himself with deodorant, pulled on some clothes and thanked his perspicacity in always keeping a spare sponge bag with his kit. Scooping up his holdhall, slipping on his shoes, he’d skeddaddled before his dad could attempt to remonstrate with him again.

He hadn’t, Tooru realised. His dad had remained silent, not calling out his usual goodbye, not imploring Tooru to return. And he’d not texted him either.

_Is he that sure I’m not going to tell Mum?_

Staring at his phone, he pondered the scenarios. Would his dad confess everything? Maybe the thought a pre-emptive strike was for the best?

Gashuko-san had been with him a long time. Before they’d moved to Miyagi, if his Dad could be believed. Over eleven years.

And Tooru wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. His Dad was not a serial philanderer. But he had a connection to someone else. Another woman he loved. As much as he could love anyone.

Eleven years. They’d been together for longer than he’d lived in Miyagi. Longer than he’d played volleyball. Longer than he’d known Iwa-chan.

A shadow appeared across the table. Tooru glanced up, expecting a waitress, instead found he was looking into the smiling but exhausted face of Shirofuku, who’d bought herself an extra-large coffee. “Hey, mind if I join you?” she said, and pressed her free hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.

“I’m not very good company,” he started to say, but his good manners overcame his reluctance and instead he smiled at her and got to his feet. “But of course. Do you want some of my pastry?”

“No that’s fine. I need a place to sit for a while before college starts.”

“Not your room?” He blinked. “Shirofuku-san, what are you doing out this early, are you returning from somewhere?”

“Ha!” She stuck out her tongue. “No such luck. I’m escaping.”

“Escaping?”

“Bokuto Koutarou is a lovely boy but wow his snoring is awful!”

“You and Bokuto? I-I had no idea... how long has this been going on?”

Shirofuku snorted, not the least ruffled by his assumption. “He crashed at mine last night. Turned up at ten, fell asleep on my beanbag and I didn’t have the heart to wake him up.”  She sipped her coffee, letting out a satisfied ‘ahh’ as she swallowed. “That guy in his hall, Kato, is it?” Tooru nodded, suddenly wary. “He’s being an ass. Keeps setting off the fire alarm for a laugh. And even when Bokuto manages to get some sleep, he bangs on his door.”

“I thought things had settled down.”

“Yeah, so did I.” She yawned, this time unable to suppress it. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I mean early days in halls, everyone was partying and behaving like dicks, but most people have eased up. Sooner Bokuto gets out the better.”

“Is there any chance?”

“He’s on a waiting list.” She shrugged. “I keep telling Bokkun he needs to make an official complaint, that way he might get out sooner, or they’ll chuck Kato out.”

“But he won’t.” Tooru chewed some of his Danish, pondering Bokuto’s reluctance. “Does he think this is like telling tales at school?”

“Hmm, he likes being popular. You must know that.”

“Stoke his ego on court. Constant reassurance, I know,” Tooru replied.

“Can you handle that?”

“Drawing out a player’s strengths isn’t just about toss, Shirofuku-san, but working on their mental strength. That’s one of the reasons I chose psychology. I’m good at working out what made players tick. How to make or break them.”

“Whoa, you sound so ruthless.”

“Good players have to be. I’m merely honest about it,” he replied. “On my old team, I had first years who made the team, but still didn’t think they were good enough. And Seijou were a powerhouse school. Getting them to try, or showing them where their strengths were, was my job.”

“ You sound like a great captain, Oikawa-san. Was everyone that compliant?”

“Not Iwa-chan.  I used to rile him.”

“Who?”  Her face cleared. “Oh, was he an opposition player?”

“No.” He shook his head, surprised. “Iwa-chan was my Ace. He played better angry, that’s all.”

“Bokuto gets angry with himself, you might want to watch that.”

He tipped his head to the side, struck by her tone of wistfulness. “You miss it, don’t you?”

“No.” The response was too rapid, and she laughed. “Okay, I guess I do, but I can’t get involved again. It was a High School thing, and maybe I need to leave it behind.” And then she sighed. “Along with other things.”

“You’re sad about something,” he said gently. “Not volleyball.”

“I ... uh ...” Her hands were trembling, he could see the coffee slopping over the top, but she set it back on the table, and scrunched up a napkin to mop up the pooling liquid.“I broke up with my girlfriend. Long distance and all that. It’s mutual, but ... um ...”

“Still hurts.”

“More that it’s something else I’m saying goodbye to. I understand how Konoha-san felt now and why he split with Yurike.”

The napkin was sodden. Tooru picked up his own, and began to blot up the rest of the coffee. “Do you think it was the distance, or something else?”

“Distance didn’t help, but, well, volleyball and summer and schools were our connection and it’s hard when we’re now moving in different directions.”

“Had you been together long?”

She shook her head and took several small sips of her coffee. “It would have been a year in August.”

“Plenty more fish and all that,” he murmured, wincing at the platitude.

But she laughed. “Shame I don’t want to date a fish. Ah, it’s fine. We had some fun, we’re still friends, and for a first relationship, Kiyoko was pretty cool.” Then she flushed, aware of what she’d said,

“Shimizu Kiyoko?  The Karasuno manager.” Tooru’s mouth twitched, “Really?” And then he gasped. “That’s who you were trying to impress at Kou-chan’s party!”

“Yes, yes, all right!” she huffed, knitting her brows together. “Look, it’s not common knowledge we dated. I’m not even sure Suga-san and Sawamura-san know, so I’d really appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut.”

“Lips are zipped,” he said, pressing them together, as he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Hum, but if you do want to talk, I am capable of listening.”

Recovering enough so the puce her cheeks had flushed to, had now paled to a pink, she gave him a coy grin. “Thank you.” Her head lolled onto her shoulder, her eyes assessing him. “Same here, Oikawa-san. If you need to talk...”

“What would I need to talk about?”

“Hmm, you have a barrier around you. I mean you flirt a lot. I watched you with Konoha at Suga’s party, and you’ve never mentioned a boyfriend or girlfriend, so you could have easily hooked up together or with anyone there, but you didn’t act on it, did you?”

“Busy with volleyball,” he mumbled and took a swig of his coffee, leaving a foam moustache above his upper lip.

Shirofuku handed over another napkin, reaching to the other table. “You flirt most with Suga-san,” she said.

“What!” He spluttered, and wiped away the last of the froth. “You think I’m after him now?”

“But I’m guessing that’s because you think of him as ‘safe’,” she continued, then touched him on the hand. “How am I doing?”

“Maybe you should be taking psychology,” he murmured.

“Hum, I prefer getting things out of people using my hands,” she said, and mimed a massage.

They sat in silence, Tooru staring out of the window, watching as the early workers began their journeys, calling in to the cafe for their takeaway drinks. Shirofuku sipping her coffee, eventually pulling out a book. And although he wouldn’t say it was exactly comfortable between them, it wasn’t that awkward either. It felt, he thought, a bit like discovering you might have a connection to someone, the possibilities of a friendship.

“I do have a boyfriend,” he admitted, slowly turning his head from the window. “Or at least I did have. I’m not sure any more.”

“Is this ‘Iwa-chan’?”

“Who told you?” he demanded, automatically on the defensive.

“No one. But he’s the only person you’ve talked about with any real feeling, so I wondered.” She paused, drinking more of her coffee. “Why aren’t you sure? Is it distance, too?”

“We had a row. Several. And he won’t answer my calls. Or texts. Or emails.” He stared out of the window again, at the haze beginning to hover over the road. “I don’t know what else to do unless I wait until summer when I go home.”

“You could write,” Shirofuku said.

“He’ll probably throw it away.”

“It’s kind of hard to ignore a letter, though. It’s very easy to delete texts, and emails, but having something physical in your hand. He’d have to be curious.” Draining her coffee, she once again smiled across the table and patted his hand. “I have to go. I want to get into the library before my lecture. You want to tag along?”

“Um ... No, I don’t think I will. But ... thank you.”

***

 

_‘Dear Iwa-chan’_   (Shall I cross that out? Call him Hajime, instead.)

_‘You’ve not replied to any messages, and my emails have bounced back, so I’m hoping you won’t ignore this letter. I’m sorry, all right. I’m sorry for everything I did and said. You have every right to go to Karasuno and to play for the team. And I have no right at all to try and force my opinions on you.  I’m petty and dumb and I’m not surprised you haven’t got back in touch with me after the last time.’_

(Shall I mention it was Takeru who texted?)

_‘I miss you._

_Please call me. I so need to speak to you, and, yes, sorry it’s about me again, but I’ve had a fight with Dad and you’re the only one I can talk to about it. I could come down, anytime, make up for me not turning up for your birthday. I’m sorry about that. Makki and Mattsun are pissed at me. Not surprised, I’m pissed at me, too.’_

His hand cramped. More used to typing than setting pen to paper, he stretched out his fingers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sent a letter – probably to his grandparents to thank them for birthdays gifts – but maybe Shirofuku was right and the novelty would nudge Iwa-chan into opening it.

_‘Hope you’re well and studying hard. Tokyo is amazing, and I want you here next year – just as we planned- but even if that doesn’t happen, I want you back in my life. I miss you so much. You’re my rock. You ground me. Or, maybe it’s like Neesan once said, you’re my Zephyrus guiding me back to land._

_Okay, I’m going to post this now. Give my love to your parents and the Chibis. Tell Koji and Sabu to keep practising, and I’ll be back in the Summer to help._

_And play well. I mean it._

_All love Tooru xxx’_

It was when he was about to post it, that the idea occurred to him, and with a smile, he took a diversion to a corner shop, buying stickers, sweets, comics and finally brown paper.

Perhaps it was sneaky, but then playing it straight hadn’t worked, so this time a subterfuge was needed.

 


	26. Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So ... how is that boys' tournament going then?
> 
> And who was that Mattsun was talking to in the stand ...

He recognised the agony. Recognised the hollow despair, the lurch from expanding horizons to the closing of shutters, and saw the very real pain emanating from the ace. What was different was the noise, the yell of _FUCK NO_ , because from what he remembered he’d been silent at that last play.

Kyoutani was hurting. The boy who a year ago had refused to play for the club, was now punching his head and slapping his cheeks before sinking to the floor.

It was Yahaba who pulled him to his feet, and Watari who clapped him on the back, a grim sort of smile on his face.

“Never thought I’d see that kid cry,” Mattsun muttered, his voice hitching. “Damn they were close.”

“Datekou are in better shape. It’s what happens when you start your team early,” Hajime replied. “And when Karasuno showed every team it’s possible for upsets to occur, the fear had gone.”

They stood, joining in the applause as Yahaba lined up his team to thank them all. The new Seijou captain stared dead ahead, led the bow and then his face twisted to the right, and catching sight of his senpais, he lifted a hand, acknowledging their presence.

“Datekou Shiratorizawa final, then,” Makki put in. “Fancy coming back tomorrow?”

“I might as well,” Mattsun replied. “How about you?”

Hajime considered. He’d nothing planned, except homework. The more detailed debrief for the girls could be done in the morning, and there was something itching inside of him, a small buzz in his head that this was not quite over.

“I’d need to bunk off. Karasuno gave me today off because I’m coach, but now –” He stopped, and chewed his lip. “Um, might be a way, though. I’d kinda like to be there.”

Pursing his lips, Makki gave one final wave to the team, then started to move to the end of the row. “Odd, isn’t it? I thought I’d be less interested now we’re a bit removed from the action, but I’d kind of like to see the final as a neutral. Maybe I’ll enjoy it more.”

“Ramen?” Mattsun suggested when they got outside. The sun was shining, bright and yellow filtering through the grey buildings so they had to squint.

“Ye... uh ...” About to agree, Hajime was shielding his eyes, but then he saw him.  “Uh, look, you guys go on. I’ll ... um ...”

“Sure.”

They’d seen, the pair of them knew exactly where Hajime was going but there was no judgement in their voices, no accusations of betrayal, just acceptance.

Hajime nodded to them, then picked up his pace to approach.

“Hey,” he murmured.

The boy turned round, his face one intense scowl, and for a moment, Hajime feared he’d made a huge mistake, but although the expression didn’t change, it didn’t deepen either.

“Iwaizumi-san.” Kageyama bowed. “You watched?”

“I saw the quarter-final against Johenzji. Tough game and you played well.”

“Yes.”  He swallowed. Close up his eyes looked red. “Did you see –”

“Your semi, no. It clashed with Seijou’s,” He glanced around, mildly surprised that Kageyama was still by himself. But maybe he’d needed time alone, and Hajime could hardly blame him for that. It was tempting to hide, but in his experience, facing things was the only option. “Where’s the rest of your team, Kageyama-kun?”

“Oh.” He blinked, looking a little bleary. “Hinata ... uh ... He crashed into a wall. Had to go off. I couldn’t –”

“Whoa, bad luck. Um –”

It explained everything. Not just a loss, Kageyama had dealt with them, but a helplessness in the set of his shoulders.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he muttered, but he knew he sounded trite, the platitude not helping at all to ease the worry.

“We lost.”

“Um... yeah.”

“He went for a dumb ball. Would have been better to leave it but he ... Dumbass!”

“Sometimes we do idiotic things,” Hajime muttered. “Instinct kind of takes over, especially when you’re fighting hard.” He reached out, patting Kageyama on the back, hoping it helped because it had helped him before. _Distract him_. But on his own terms because Kageyama wouldn’t listen to anything too far off on a tangent. “What happened to the ball?”

“Huh?”

“Shrimpy’s ball, what happened to it?”

“Oh ...” He lifted his head up. “He returned it to Ennoshita-san, and he tipped it over.”

_“_ Nice.”

“It tied the score.”

A little colour was coming back to Kageyama’s cheeks, and his breathing, which had been choppy, had eased, the breaths hissing out between his teeth.

“He did well, then. Hinata, I mean.”

“Mmm.”

“Did he go off straight away?”

Kageyama nodded.

“So, do you have a Chibi able to jump like him as back up?”

Kageyama shook his head. His eyes were shuttering.

_Focus him back on the game._

“What happened next, Kageyama-kun?” he asked gently.

He stared not at his feet, but at some point in the distance, his pupils skywards as he strove to recall. “Narita-san came on for Hinata. Then Tanaka-san served, and it was good, but their Libero received it, and ...” He inhaled, and closed his eyes, reliving the dying shots. “There was a one touch from Goshiki’s spike, and I tried to pick up the slack but –”

Hajime was silent, letting Kageyama ramble, and he listened as the last shot played out so vividly, despite Kageyama’s broken phrasing.  Kawanishi had served, Nishinoya receiving (Hajime could see that, the Libero in orange rolling to connect and flicking the ball so deftly to Kageyama). The toss to Tanaka, perhaps predictable even without their Guess Monster, and Shirabu had tossed again to the Shiratorizawa ace, letting Goshiki grab the glory with an effortless straight.

“We lost,” he finished dully. “And Hinata-”

“You’ll be stronger at the Spring High,” Hajime put in. “Hinata-kun’ll be jumping even higher.”

“Kageyama!” the voice was shrill and they both turned, both recognising, both fearful, but the face that greeted them was smiling.

“Yachi-kun?”

She approached from the door of the stadium, a tripping run across the pathways, only faltering when she realised whom Kageyama was talking to, but even then, it only dimmed her smile momentarily. “Hinata’s got the all clear from the medics,” she sang. “And Coach Ukai wants to see you.”

“Okay.” He bowed a little to Hajime, mumbled something then strode off, not questioning Yachi in the slightest. And Hajime, who’d expected to be once more consigned to solitude was surprised when Yachi stayed, hopping from one foot to another.

“Um, thank you!” she said, darting a quick smile.

“What for?”

“Ah, I saw you from the window. You were talking to Kageyama.”

“Well, I was listening.” He sniffed. “Bad luck about Hinata. And the match,” he added as an afterthought. “Your first set of matches in charge, right?”

“N-no,” she stammered. He must have looked puzzled because she blinked then explained. “I took over our first match at Nationals. Hinata-kun had left his kit at the station, and Shimizu-san was the only one who could get there quick enough - she used to hurdle, you see - and that left us without a manager so I took over and –”

_Do you even need to breathe?_ he wondered, his mind boggling at the speed she chatted at.

“Anyway, thank you, again,” she finished, and smiled again.

He shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“We thought he was going to get home by himself. He ran off, and well, Kageyama has a horrible sense of direction, so even though he’s been here before, none of us had any idea if he’d get lost.” She gnawed the side of her lip. “I really should tell Takeda-sensei. He was going to go and look for him, but ... um ... thank you.”

“That’s the third ‘thank you’, Yachi-kun, and really it’s fine.”

“Ah!” She waved her hand in the air, the gesture also fanning her face. “I’m sorry.”

“He was worried about Hinata,” she said, suddenly earnest.

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Um...”

“What?”

“Are you going to write about the matches? Or ... uh ... any of this?”

Oh, that’s what she wanted to know. “Some of them,” he said, not able to resist being enigmatic.

“Um, only ... what Kageyama might have said. Or ... um ... done ... might ... uh ...”

“Yachi-kun.” He smiled, hoping to put her out of her misery, but the gesture appeared to scare her more, so he smoothed the grin off his face. “I was going to write up a report of the Girls’ tournament, if that’s acceptable. Then, maybe see if I can write something for the boys, as well as the final, if I come back tomorrow.” He coughed, stared at his trainers, then peeped up at her. “I didn’t see your semi, ‘cause I was watching Seijou.”

“Ah... oh ... yes, yes, I see!”  Her eyelids were fluttering and now her fingers were fiddling with the zip of her jacket.

Hajime stepped away from her, hoisting his bag back over his shoulder.  “Maybe I can talk to someone else who watched the match and we can collaborate on our reports.”

“Yes, yes, excellent idea!” She bowed. She actually bowed, backed away and then turned tail and ran back into the stadium.

Hajime chuckled to himself, then began to walk. His phone buzzed, Misa’s message a little too late, saying they’d already got a bus back, but would be getting a meal together ‘if you want to join us’.

**_[I might]_** he texted back.

**[Cool]** the answer came back immediately, followed by the name of the noodle bar they were heading for. Of course, it wouldn’t be the same as the post-match meals he’d enjoyed with Seijou, but then he could hardly join them, and he figured he’d crashed too much of Makki and Mattsun’s alone time recently. And, when he thought about it more carefully, where else did he belong?

***

The ramen bar was close to Karasuno, and as Hajime got off the bus, he pondered the familiarity of the route now. He’d not been here before, but he recognised it as a place Karasuno kids hung out in after school. Most times, he was rushing away from school or coaching, and had seen it stacked with customers in black gakurans, or the white blouses and sailor bows the girls wore.  It was popular, and he could see why as it was inexpensive and lively. Inviting, too.

Although Hajime hadn’t been invited by anyone until today.

Misa saw him first, waving him over with a big smile on her face, and making sure there was space, so any thought that he’d only been invited as a courtesy was instantly dismissed.

“We’ve ordered,” she explained, “so dig in. And there’s mint tea in the pot there.”

“Or coke if you want to let your hair down, Iwaizumi-san,” Oshiro teased.

“Coffee,” he said, and setting down his bag on the seat by Misa, he made his way to the counter.

He recognised precious few other faces in there. A boy from his class was eyeing up another group of girls by the window. And there were various people dotted around the room, who looked his way when he stood in the queue.

“That’s Iwaizumi Hajime,” someone whispered.

They recognised him. He barely knew any of their faces, let alone names. 

“You’re a celebrity.”

“Huh?” He looked to his side and then down, to find a dark haired girl had slid into the queue behind him.

She was shorter than him, with a bob of brown hair, and wide dark brown eyes. What set her apart from most of the people in here was her lack of uniform. Instead she wore casual clothes, long canvas shorts and a red t-shirt tucked in to the waist band. She smiled. Then flushed a little.

“Have we met?” he asked, wondering because she looked vaguely familiar.

“No. Unless you count this as us meeting.”

“What?”

She smiled again, and her face went pinker, but she didn’t falter, bowing her head towards him. “Hi, I’m Michimiya Yui. I watched your games today.”

Name was familiar too, now he thought about it, but still he couldn’t place her. She’d not been at Seijou, that he was sure of. Not one of Oikawa’s fangirls.

“Uh ... were you ... were you talking to my friend at the match?”

“Um... who’s your friend?”

“Tall guy – like a beanpole - messy hair and smirky type of mouth even when he’s not smiling.”

“Oh, yes!  He was cheering us on. I was surprised because I didn’t recognise him from Karasuno. I thought he might be going out with one of the team.”

“Ah, no, he was at Seijou with me.”

“Of course he was! I remember now. Middle Blocker, right?”

He nodded, and was about to reply but now at the head of the queue, he ordered his drink and he handed over some money, waiting as Michimiya was served.

“You said ‘us’?” he queried. “You’re from Karasuno.”

“I was,” she said sagely. “Last year.”

Her eyes drifted to the girls’ table, a small smile on her lips, and a sigh full of nostalgia escaped her.

And then he realised. And then he recognised her. And then he kicked himself for not understanding before.

“Last year’s captain,” he said. “There’s a picture of you in the locker room.”

“Oh, it’s still there, then.” Paying for her soda, she didn’t immediately move away. “Nice to know I’m not completely forgotten. Or that those Basketball guys haven’t defaced it.”

“They know you, don’t they? Misa and Aime must have played for you. And Oshiro, I’m guessing.”

“Ha, well, yes I guess so. Oshiro was keen. Misa, too. The others weren’t as good as attending practise, and I wasn’t great at enforcing discipline. How do you do it?”

“Uh, no idea. Might be a novelty thing. At Seijou we got dropouts when they realised how tough the regime was.” He grimaced. “Thing was, we always had good depth, Karasuno don’t.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied and rolled her eyes.

“I could,” he said. “Are you joining us now? I’m sure they won’t object.”

She laughed and picking up two straws, poked them into her drink before taking a sip. “I’ve been invited. Misa-kun saw me in the stand.”

Michimiya Yui had a warmth about her that was immediately apparent. There was none of the awkwardness of having a former player at the table and joining the current team. And she lightened the atmosphere, so where they could have been gloomy, the team were now rallying, buoyed up by the fact they’d won a game and had been dumped out only by the unfortunate happenstance of having been drawn against the favourites.

“Inter-High was my last tournament,” she was telling the first years. “I sobbed my heart out when we lost.”

“Did you regret leaving then?” Aime asked.

She tilted her head, considering. “I’d have liked to have left on a higher note – like winning the damn tournament and going to Nationals - but ... well ... I had to be realistic. College places don’t just land in the laps of someone like me, and I had a lot of work to do.”

“You’re at college?” Hajime said.

“Mmm, art college nearby.” She scooped some more chicken on her plate. “You stayed on for Spring High, right?”

“Yeah, couldn’t imagine giving up, but if we’d won the Inter-Highs, I guess I might have done.”

“I couldn’t,” Sugawara interrupted, then blushed, seemingly at her own directness. “Sorry.”

“Why not?” Hajime asked her.

“Um, well, even if you’ve won a competition, you’d want to keep going, wouldn’t you? P-prove it wasn’t a fluke.”  She swallowed. “M-my brother was told to give up, he said to me, and they’d kind of done better than anyone expected at the Inter-Highs, but ... um ...”

“It wouldn’t have been right for him,” Michimiya put in, coming to her rescue as Sugawara buried her face in her crumpled napkin. “Suga-san and the others had stuff to prove. Not sure I did.”

And there it was. Having something to prove. Was that why he’d stayed on? Was it why he’d refused to listen to his sensei and had chanced everything on a volleyball scholarship? Was that why, in the end, he’d fucked it all up?

_Am I at Karasuno just to prove I can do it without him?_

A murmur reached him. “-Iwaizumi-san...”

_No... I’m not. Not entirely. It’s better like this. Not just for me._

It was Misa speaking. “Must be a very deep thought.”

“Future plans,” he muttered, twisting his head to the side, so only she could catch his words. “We need to talk, don’t we?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But not right now. Not when we’re having fun.”

***

His mum was humming when he got in. She smiled, and reached out to ruffle his hair, asking how his day was.

“Good.”

“You look happy,” she replied.

“Satisfied,” he qualified. “Um ... Mum ...”

“Mmm?”

“You know I told you I was writing some things for the Karasuno newspaper.”

She nodded.

“I ... uh ... have one or two more to write, and ... um ... someone might be coming round to help. Or I might go round theirs – not sure yet.”

“Sure. His mum turned back to the sink. “If I wash, you can dry.”

“I don’t mind doing both.”

She gave him a side-glance, and ran her finger across the rim of a cup before plunging it into the water.  “You must have something else important to tell me, Hajime.”

_Tell her._

“I don’t want you to get mad.”

“When you say that, what am I supposed to think?”

He ploughed on despite the chips of flint in her voice. “I went to the Inter-Highs today.”

“You played.” Her voice dropped a tone.

“Oh ... no.”

“So you skipped school to go and watch.” A muscle was pinging in her cheek and he could see her fingers gripping the dish scourer. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that Karasuno know and now you’ve been suspended or something! And you want me NOT to be mad!”

They must have heard the voices, for the next moment Koji and Saburo appeared, poking their heads around the door, before jerking back out of sight. His mum’s hand automatically slipped to her stomach, her palm cradling her swollen belly.

Hajime took a breath. “They knew I was there. And it’s not exactly what you think. I swear I’ve not joined the team. I mean I’m not playing.”

“Then what? And why did the school say you could go, or are you lying about that?”

“I’m not lying,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible, knowing the surest way to stop her yelling was not to yell back. “Mum, I went to the Girls’ Tournament. I’ve been their coach for over a month now.”

“What?”

If he’d thought that would placate her, he was wrong.

“How is that going to get you anywhere?” she began, her voice low but tight. “Playing I could just about understand. In your head, you’d still be thinking about a scholarship, and I know - I know - so _bloody_ well how important this game is to you, but in my stupidity, I thought without Tooru to distract you, you’d give up on this idea that it can in any way help you.”

“But it did before!” he rasped, finally cutting through. “Mum, I won a scholarship and we didn’t even get to Nationals.”

“And playing a _pointless_ game took that away from you.” With her hands on his shoulders, she shook him, not hard, but her fingers flexed and gripped on his skin. “What will coaching do for you, Hajime, except take you away from your studies?”

“I know,” he mumbled. Then he pried her hands off him, cupping one of them in his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. And you are right, because it is more work, but I won’t be carrying on next term.”

She stared at him, unblinking. “You’ve given up.”

“Yeah, they’re out of the Inter-High, so I’m going to concentrate properly now.”

It had floored her. Her mouth agape, she struggled for words.

 “Why?” she managed at last.

“I heard them practising, and then one of the girls, that one you met, she joined us at Little Tykes, and –”

“Is she your girlfriend? Is _that_ why?” Her tone spoke of incredulity and weariness. “Don’t get distracted, Hajime, not again!”

“No!” He couldn’t keep the disbelieving laugh out of his voice. “Look, they needed someone to pull them together, and I thought it was me, at least to give them a chance. Sugawara-kun was ...” He swallowed. “She reminded me of someone, a kid I let down, and I just wanted to give her a chance.”

“And then he goes and whips the mat out from under my feet. So much heart, Hajime-chan.”  She wriggled free, leaning back against the sink, and now both of her hands traced the curve of her stomach.  Her eyes glistened. “Your sister’s protesting, telling me to breathe deep and listen, probably. She’s a peacemaker. Must take after your Dad.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“I actually meant why tell me?” she murmured. “As you’re giving up, then you could have said nothing.”

He scuffed the floor with his foot. “Thought you liked me being truthful. And ... um ... the pieces I’ve been writing are about volleyball.”

Snorting, his mum flicked water at him, or rather bubbles, and the flash of temper popped away. “What you mean is that I’m likely to work it out if I read what you’ve written.” With a shake of her head, she cuffed him gently across the ear. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Uh ... well ...”

“Uh-oh, what have I let myself in for now.”

“It’s about tomorrow.”

“What about it?”

“It’s the volleyball final.”

“And you’re not competing because you’re not playing, so why are you mentioning this?” she asked, exasperation seeping back into her voice.

“The Guidance Counsellor, Takeda-sensei, has said if it’s okay with you and dad, then I have leave to attend, so I can write it up for the paper.”

“He has, has he?”  The hand on her stomach twitched.

“Yeah, look, I texted him.” He pulled out ‘the brick’ and showed her Takeda’s reply. It had been something he’d been mulling over, since speaking to Mattsun, and then later in the ramen bar with the team, he’d listened to Michimiya as she talked about the difference now she was only a spectator.

“I’m really not missing much,” he pleaded. “Revision sessions mainly.”

“For end of term tests,” she countered, “which are important.”

“I know they are, Mum. I promise you, I’m not making the same mistake I did last year. I’ll get the grades. But this ... this will count towards college credits. It’s not like a scholarship that they can take away from me.”

She didn’t immediately reply, didn’t argue any more, or make further inquiries. What she did was hand him a tea towel, picked up the scouring brush and returned to the dishes.

“When you were first injured and in hospital,” she began, “I never thought about your college place. All I was worried about was you and the pain you were so obviously enduring. I hope you know I never begrudged you playing. It made you happy, and it was something you were good at, so how could I want to take that away?”

Hajime felt the rasp of a lump in his throat and a sudden welling of tears behind his eyes. He swallowed hard, damming his emotions.

His mum was staring out of the window, her hand stilled on the scourer.

“Stupid things cross your mind when your child is hurt, you know. I thought it was worse than it turned out to be, fear clawed at me that you’d lose your leg, or something dumb like that.” She laughed. It stuck in her craw. “Your dad had to tell Koji and Saburo. I came back from the hospital, went straight into the kitchen and cooked a huge meal, far too much for the four of us.

“It was Sabu-chan who asked about volleyball. Apparently you’d promised to take them to Seijou with Tooru-kun.”

_Had I? Yeah ... I had. He was going to take Takeru._

“And it was at that moment, I began to look past the initial damage, and to see how this was going to affect more than your immediate future. And I worried. I worried so much because despite your teachers telling me it was possible, despite all the evidence that you could get the grades, and despite me knowing that when you want something, Hajime, you go for it, and I knew how hard you always worked.” She breathed in through her nose, letting the exhale linger. “There was still something nagging at me, and I put it to the very back of my mind, but it wouldn’t stay buried.”

“You knew I’d mess up.”

“You _didn’t_ mess up,” she said, and picked up a plate, dipping it into the water. “I _know_ you did your best, as good as you could have done, but without extra credits, it was always going to be that much harder.”

She handed him the plate. There was still egg on side of it, so he slid it back into the sink, while his mum continued talking.

“And having Tooru around didn’t help,” she said wryly. “I know he wanted to, but he was always more concerned about your knee than your results.”

“He helped,” Hajime managed. “He kept me going when I wanted to give up, Mum. He wanted me to go to Tokyo with him as much as I did.”

“You’re so loyal.” She returned to the plate, scrubbing at it fiercely. “I like Tooru. I always have, but maybe this distance is for the best. You’re finding another side to yourself, I think, Hajime. It’s like he shone for both of you, but now you’ve emerged.”

And he couldn’t reply, not without refuting everything she’d said. Because despite disagreeing, if he declaimed just how wrong she was, he’d give away just how he felt. Tooru didn’t outshine him, he dragged Hajime into the light, despite the protests. It wasn’t a matter of completion, or two halves of the same coin, or any other bullshit like that, but together they could fly. Together they were ... dauntless.

And now they were apart.

“I’ll talk to your father,” she said, breaking the silence. “But if your sensei thinks the final is a good opportunity for you, then who am I to disagree?”


	27. Thunderclouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Study sessions with Suga and life at college isn't all a rosy utopia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new tags, so please be warned. Brief, but will have repercussions.

The study sessions with Suga at Tooru’s apartment felt like a habit now. In reality, they’d only been going on for three weeks, but Suga and he had an easy companionship going, one Tooru knew was down to Suga’s emollient nature. Although Yaku had also been invited along, he told them both he preferred the library or locking himself in his room with his music up loud.

 At college, Tooru had generally worked alone, and found himself getting used to working solitarily. School had been different, if he’d needed company, he’d had Iwa-chan. At Seijou, the pair of them had hooked up with Mattsun and Makki, fitting in study sessions around practise, helping each other out as they swapped anecdotes and snacks. It had served them well, revising had never been a chore, but something fun and light-hearted.

_But perhaps that hadn't been the best way for Iwa-chan._

“You’re looking troubled, Tooru. Can I help with something?”

Tooru blinked and looked up from the page he was supposed to be reading. “It’s nothing.” He sniffed and went back to his book but Suga was still looking at him. “Well, I was reflecting on how good a study partner you are, actually. I’m surprised.”

“Why?” Suga put down his book and pen.

“I thought you’d be more ... um ... distracting.”

“Uh...” Now he was wary, shifting on the sofa. “What ... um ...”

“Ha!” Tooru started to laugh. “No, please I don’t mean distracting in that way at all, Koushi-chan. Less serious, is what I meant. I wasn’t sure how much actual studying we’d do together, but you’re pretty intense at times, aren’t you?”

“Ah, well, yes, I guess I am about work.”  Suga grimaced. “I didn’t get a scholarship like you or Dai, so getting top marks was paramount.”

Tooru considered, then he got up offering more coffee. In the kitchen, he filled up the kettle, spooning instant coffee into two mugs and waited.  Suga was humming to himself, clearly having gone back to his annotations.

“Can I ask you something?” Tooru said, bringing in the coffee plus a half opened pack of biscuits.

“I’m sure you ‘can’,” Suga said, his lips twitching. “You’re perfectly capable of speech. Whether you ‘may’ or not –”

“Ha ha - I forgot I was entertaining the grammar pedant.” Tooru handed over the mug, then flopped down next to Suga.

“Go on then. Ask away.”

“Oh ... yes. Right.” Tooru took a sip of his coffee. “When you were saying about how important your schoolwork was.”

“Mmm.”

“Why did you continue volleyball if it were that important?”

“Because I was never going to be offered a sports’ place you mean?” Suga remarked wryly.

Tooru felt his face pinking, but he held Suga’s gaze. “You’ve said it yourself, Koushi.”

Suga sighed and leant back against the futon. “You know something, one of the reasons I like you, Tooru, is that you don’t sugarcoat things. Not like ... uh ...”

“Hmm, well, maybe Sawamura has a better idea than I do,” Tooru replied tactfully.

“Daichi tells me I put myself down,” Suga murmured. “I call it being aware of my limitations.”

“As long as you’re not confined by the limits that you appear to have set yourself,” Tooru replied.  He tutted. “Anyway, you still haven’t answered the question. Why did you stay on after Inter-High?”

Suga considered, although it appeared to Tooru that he already knew the answer, and what he was actually considering was not his reasons but whether to confide. “Because I thought I’d regret _not_ staying on. At the time, I genuinely believed that I’d regret not having the chance to play more than I’d regret messing up this college place.”

“At the time?” Tooru snapped a biscuit in two. “And now?”

“Well, I got both, so it all worked out fine, but ... um ...” And now his cheeks were faintly flushed with pink. “It might have been more sensible to give up, but I couldn’t have imagined watching Daichi and Asahi going off to practise and me staying behind after school to work in the library. I think it’d have killed me.”

“And if Sawamura had decided to give up, would you have done so?”

“Funny you should say that, but he once told me and Asahi that was what he was going to do. He thought the club was in good hands with Ukai-san and the second years.”

“He would have given up!”

Suga shrugged and helped himself to a biscuit. “He floated the idea around. He didn’t mean it, but I get the feeling he thought he was doing us a favour. He knew Asahi suffered badly with nerves, he knew I over-thought and was barely getting a chance to play.” He bit into the biscuit, chewing and swallowing before adding, “I think he thought it was a way we could back out gracefully.”

“But none of you did in the end.” Tooru checked back. “Or did you have other third years we didn’t know about.”

Shaking his head, Suga took a gulp of his coffee. “We were the only three in our year from the beginning. Maybe that’s why we stayed together. We’d been through a lot and ... well ... I know for me, that was the important thing, sticking through till the end.”

“And if you’d not got the grades you needed?” Tooru asked, and smirked. “What would that have done to your happy set up with Sawa-chan?”

“Moot point.”

“Huh?”

“Daichi would have killed me, so I’d not have needed them.” He continued to drink, but he was staring across the rim of his mug at Tooru. “Why are you so interested?”

“It’s your study technique,” Tooru replied airily. “It’s very efficient.”

“I thought maybe ... uh ...” He held Tooru’s gaze, not flinching.

“You thought what?”

“I thought you were asking because of Iwaizumi-kun,” Suga said after a while, his voice soft but clear. “I’ll be honest with you, Tooru. If I’d not got the grades to do Literature here, then I’d have tried another college. I might even have stayed in Miyagi and gone to Sendai.” He inhaled, slowly and with a degree of measure. “As much as I want to be with Daichi, I have to think of my own future, too, and I wouldn’t have retaken the year.”

He left the statement hanging. Tooru flapped it away.

“Does Sawamura know that?”

“Of course!” Suga let out a small chuckle. “He said he’d have killed me if I hadn’t got the grades, but in the same breath he was encouraging me to look at other options.”

_But Iwa-chan wanted to do Law. He could have gone to another college. I didn’t force anything!_

_Did I?_

“Have you heard from Iwaizumi recently?” Suga asked, his eyes narrowing perceptively.

Tooru shook his head, then drank some more coffee to save himself the necessity of answering with words.

“Oh well, I expect you’ll see him when we’re back in Miyagi,” Suga continued. “We could all meet up.”

“Perhaps.” He picked up his book, hoping Suga would take the hint and stop talking now.

He did take the hint, Suga was observant after all and intuitive, but instead of returning to the study session, he began to pack his books. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s nearly ten, and if I get in too late I disturb Daichi.”

“Domestic bliss,” Tooru murmured, smiling in an attempt to dispel the bitterness. Because he wasn’t bitter, not really. He didn’t _think_ he begrudged Suga and Daichi their relationship. It was only that ... He shook his head. “Look, stay and finish your coffee at least.”

“I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Do you want a lift?”

“Tooru, I’m fine,” Suga reassured him. “And the bus stop’s just around the corner.”

“I’ll walk with you. I need some juice anyway.”

“What is this?” Suga said, laughing. “First date or something? I do know my way.”

“I know.” Tooru stuck out his bottom lip. “Look, sorry, I get touchy talking about Iwa-chan. It’s dumb, and I shouldn’t, but he’s ... um ... not been in touch.  I have tried, but he’s not replied to anything I’ve sent.”

“Maybe ... um ... you need to see him in person?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at a particularly annoying knot. “Last time I saw him, it didn’t end well.”

“You argued?”

He laughed, deliberately light. “Makki once said it was our form of communication. But we always made up.” Shrugging, he got to his feet. “I guess when you attend the same school and play on the same team, it’s more important to get on. Maybe if we’d not had that in common, we’d have stopped being friends years ago.”

Suga said no more, but neither did he insist on walking to the bus stop alone, accepting Tooru’s company and his offer to carry his laptop until they got there.

It was dark outside, a few stars shone through the haze of fumes and streetlamps. Clear skies and a quarter moon glinting down on them. The sort of night where he and Iwa-chan had driven off to the beach to lie under the stars.

_Would we have stayed together if it hadn’t been for volleyball?_

“Are you going back to Miyagi for the Summer?” he asked Suga.

“Um, for some of it, yes,” Suga replied. “Mum and Dad want to visit me here, and I'm going on a trip with them and my sister.  She is very impressed I know you.”

“Huh?”

“So if you’re here at the same time, she’s going to nag me into meeting you. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Koushi-chan, I’m not about to date girls, not even if they’re as pretty as their brothers.”

They’d reached the bus stop, Suga leaning against a lamppost, the light haloing around his white blonde hair. Maybe if his sister were as pretty, then it wouldn’t be that much of a chore to date her after all.

But Suga snorted. “Hmm, I don’t think it’s your looks she’s after, Idol-chan, but tips.”

“Pardon?”

“She’s a Setter, like me. Well, not like me, she’s better than I was at that age.”

“What age is that?”

Suga stared at him. “She’s fifteen, Tooru. She’s at Karasuno.”

He stiffened. _Why are you looking at me like that? How was I supposed to know?_

 The vague irritation he felt when Karasuno were mentioned buzzed around his head, intensifying as Suga began to frown. Tooru handed over the laptop, his fingers brushing Suga’s.

“And she’s more interested in you now because of Iwaizumi-kun.”

Gritting his teeth, Tooru took a step back, not wanting to hear the rest of it. Because although he’d talked this through with Konoha, despite the fact that he was making a new life for himself here and had convinced himself that Iwa-chan playing for Karasuno didn’t matter in the slightest and was even (he supposed) a good thing because it meant his knee was healed, it still hurt. He didn’t want to be this petty, but he also didn’t want to hear that Suga’s sister was watching from the stands as Karasuno’s latest ace hit spike after spike from Kageyama’s tosses. He didn’t want to know how Karasuno had done, had successfully avoided all the reports, only hearing from Yahaba that Seijou had gone out in the semis after a tough game against Datekou.

“Iwa-chan’s got himself a fanclub at last,” he said waspishly.

“Well, he’s worked wonders. They won a game. Shame their next one was against Niiyama, but that’s the luck of the draw and –”

“Huh?  Queens. What? ” Tooru blinked.

“It’s the pretty-boy!” yelled a voice from across the road.

 “Ugh!” Suga stood up straight, his brows furrowing. “That’s all I need.”

“There's two of them.”

“Who is it?” Tooru muttered, then span round. He surveyed the far sidewalk, his eyes assessing.

“Bokuto’s hall mate. He's a dumbass.”

“Oh, him, yes, I ran into that one at the cinema. Kato, isn’t it?” Tooru continued to stare, then curved his lips into a smile. “Very easy to wind up.”

“Yes, but we don’t want to make it worse for Bokuto-kun,” Suga replied, firmly taking Tooru’s arm and tugging it. “Just ignore them.”

“Fucking hell! You see that?”

“Holding hands!”

“Fucking disgusting.”

“The bus will be here soon. You might as well go,” Suga muttered, and dropped Tooru’s arm.

“No, I’ll wait.” He kept his eyes on the pair across the road. The second boy wasn’t one from the cinema. “How well do you know them?”

“I’ve run into Kato when we’ve called round on Bokuto. The one with the baseball cap knows Kuroo and Morisuke from Nekoma.” He shifted his feet a little. “They’re jerks, but nothing I’ve not dealt with before. Oh shit!”

Tooru glanced over his shoulder and understood. The pair of them were on the move, weaving through cars as they crossed over the road, their direction clear.

A driver angrily sounded their horn as the two boys started whooping.

“When’s your bus coming, Suga?”

“Four minutes,” Suga said, checking his phone.

They could leave, walk back to Tooru’s and wait for the next bus. Or Tooru could drive Suga home. But Suga was standing straight, eyes resolute, one fist clenched and the other furled tight around his bag strap.

“Bus together, then?” Kato said, leering towards them. He smiled nastily. “What a classy way to end a date.”

Intent on ignoring them for Suga’s sake, Tooru turned his head away, staring stonily ahead, although the urge to snap out a retort was biting at his lips. On the air, he caught a wisp of alcohol and something else, something sweet and musky.

“Oh. Lover’s tiff. They’re not answering us,” the other yelled. “They’re not talking at all.”

“How rude.” Kato stood in front of Suga, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. “Don’t you think so, Ando? _”_

And Tooru instinctively straightened up, pleased to see he was at least half a head taller and broader, too.

“Why aren’t you talking to us?” Ando questioned. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Kato. “It’s not like we’re strangers. You’re Kuroo’s mates. And we all know Idiot Bokuto.”

“Maybe they’re dumb like that twat and don’t know how to speak,” Kato said, rubbing his chin. “Or be respectful when someone’s trying to talk to them.”

“Or maybe we think someone needs to earn respect, and the way you do that isn’t by referring to our friend as a ‘dumb twat’!” Suga spat.

Kato began to laugh. It wasn’t a good sound. There was a nasty sneer to it, and he stepped even closer.  ”Protective of him, aren’t you? Why’s that?”

Suga didn’t flinch. He met Kato’s eyes, unblinking. The only sign he was at all perturbed was a muscle twitching in his jaw. But it wasn’t fear, more a determination to see this through, whatever the cost. 

And the trouble, as far as Tooru could see, was that Suga might have been athletic, but he was slight and until recently had carried an injury. Plus he was carrying two bags.

Discomforting Kato had worked the last time.

And the time before.

“Why do you think?” Tooru answered before Suga had formulated a reply. “We’re teammates.”

“Bum chums you mean.”

Tooru trilled out a laugh. “’Bum-chums?’ How quaint you are, Kato-chan. You have a one-track mind, you know that?” He twisted to face Ando, still smiling, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I have this feeling he’s stalking me. I was at the cinema and he turned up. Wasn’t just the popcorn you were eyeing, eh, Kato-chan?”

“Bus,” Suga said suddenly.

But Kato ignored him. Clearly not at all concerned about onlookers, he stretched out to grab Tooru’s collar, thwarted when Tooru sidestepped to leave him floundering.  He was crashing to the ground, stopped only when Ando grabbed his arm and set him straight. But even that almost- accident didn’t stop him. Angry now, possibly because Tooru was still smirking, and Suga had begun to snort, he lashed out.

“Fuck!” Suga staggered back holding his nose.

“Hey!” Tooru shouted. “What the hell was that for?”

“Fucking gay creeps. Fucking weirdos!” Kato screamed back, and launched at Suga again.  His fist connected with Suga’s cheek, but because Suga was already dodging, it was a glancing blow rather than a bone breaker. All the same, Suga tripped backwards, landing on the pavement and smacking his head on the bench.

“Don’t you dare,” Ando seethed and leapt forwards to stop Tooru from assisting Suga.

“Get off me, you little shit!” Tooru shouted, and holding out both hands, he shoved Ando away, sending him tumbling.  Then Tooru lunged towards Kato, who’d begun to kick Suga, yelling but not ceasing when Suga's foot connected with his shin.

As his hand curled into a fist the thought of knuckles bruised, the thought of dislocated fingers interrupted Tooru's instinct.

He jumpstarted. _This is Suga!_

Tooru barged into Kato, sending him sideways, then span around. Ando was recovering now, intent on returning to the fray, and Suga, who had been groaning, was now getting unsteadily to his feet.

_Think smart!_

Looping his arm around Suga’s bag, Tooru swung it in an arc, catching Ando in the chest and then Kato in the face as he got to his knees.  Both were incapacitated, and as the bus drew up, Tooru pulled on Suga’s arm, propelling him forwards.  But the bus driver took one look at Suga’s face and the boys groaning on the ground, closed his door and drove off.

“Fucking hell!” Suga cried. “Fucking pieces of shit!”

“This way!” Tooru tugged Suga away, back the way they came, urging him onwards, even though Suga was weaving across the pavement. Past the corner, he linked his arm under Suga’s shoulders, taking his weight.

“Suga, how are you?”

“Just brilliant! What do you think?”

“Not concussed, then?”

“Huh?” Suga grimaced and with his free hand, he clutched the back of his head. “I took a whack. Fuck this!”

“Hospital? I’ll drive you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He limped, then gingerly touched his hand to his nose, wincing at the blood.  “No, don’t worry. Take me home instead.” He stopped speaking, then looked up at Tooru. “Sorry, are you okay?”

“Mmm, I’m fine. You took the brunt.”  He glanced over his shoulder, but they weren’t being followed, so he slowed his pace, still supporting Suga. “Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Suga said, his voice an echo.

And both of them laughed a little.

“Why are you apologising?” Tooru asked.

“I should have ignored them.”

“I wound them up.”

Suga sighed. “I think our existence winds them up.”

***

Tooru had never seen Daichi angry.

Not really angry. Not this white hot blazing fury.

It was terrifying.

Getting fired up on court was one thing. Yelling at kouhais was another. But the rage that transpired when Tooru brought Suga home wasn’t just another level, but a whole different game.

“WHO THE FUCK DID THIS?”

“I’m not saying until you’ve calmed down,” Suga snapped. He winced as Kuroo inserted some cotton wool up his nose. “What’s the verdict, sensei?”

“Whoever it was didn’t split your cheek open so can’t be that good a fighter,” Kuroo murmured.

“I ducked,” Suga replied. “Didn’t react fast enough to stop the one on my nose. Is it broken?”

“Uh ... don’t think so. You probably want to go to hospital, though and get it –”

“Right. Come on. I’ll get a cab!” Daichi interrupted. He turned to Tooru. “Why didn’t you take him straight there?”

“Because Suga wanted to come back here,” Tooru replied. “I did try.”

“Not hard enough,” Daichi muttered.

“There’s no point,” Suga said. He stretched out his hand. “Dai, I’m okay. It was like getting a volleyball in the face.”

“And getting a Bokuto serve to the back of your head,” Tooru put in.

Suga glared at him.

“What’s this?” Kuroo asked.

“Nothing.”

“He trippeed over and banged the back of his head,” Tooru explained, and faced Daichi. “Look, he seemed in his right senses and wanted to come back here, so I ... My car’s outside. I can drive him and the rest of you if you want.”

“Think you’ve done enough! I’ll sort this out.”

“Will you lot stop talking about me as if I’m not here!” Suga nudged Daichi with his forehead. “I’m fine,” he said in a gentler tone. “I don’t need anything except painkillers and plasters.”

 “I’ll drag you there myself!”

“This sounds like a melodramatic soap opera,” Tooru interrupted. “Stop being stubborn, both of you, and I’ll drive you there.”

“It’s a good idea,” Kuroo interjected. He crouched down, taking Suga’s hand away from his chest. “You’ve been clutching your ribs. What else happened?”

“WHAT?”

“A kick or two,” Suga replied. “That’s all, and then Tooru knocked the pair of them over.”

“Oikawa did?” Daichi stood to his full height, still holding Suga’s hand and stared straight at Tooru.

“Yes,” Suga said. “He did. And then he tried to get me on the bus, but the driver drove off, so we legged – or rather limped back to his apartment, and ... Daichi, you’re hurting my hand!”

“Sorry.” He lessened his grip, but Suga’s speech had done nothing to lessen his anger. “Odd how you’ve not got a mark on you, Oikawa, and Suga’s covered in blood and bruises and fuck knows what to his ribs!” He grabbed Tooru’s arm, examining his hand. “Like not even your knuckles. What did you do to them? How did you get them to back off? Or where they scared off by the bus? ‘Cause it looks to me as if you got off really lightly in this attack, and why would that be, when you were probably the arsehole who wound them up!”

“Daichi!” Suga reached out and pulled him back.

The silence thickened between them all. Kuroo stood up straight, watching.

“Daichi,” Suga said again. “Tooru hit them with my bag. He knocked them both to the ground and then we scarpered. I was on the ground, too woozy to do anything and -”

“Yeah, right,” Daichi began, then stopped. “Woozy?”

“Uh ... a little. I’m fine now.”

“Nope. You’re going to hospital,” Kuroo butted in. “There’s no way I can help you, not if it’s concussion.”

“It’s not.”

“It could be.”  Daichi gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and helped Suga to his feet. “If you could drive us, Oikawa, then I’d be grateful.”

It wasn’t a thaw. Sawamura was acidly polite, and when they reached the hospital, he took Suga in himself, refusing Oikawa’s assistance.

“Go home,” he ordered.

“Let me know.”

Sawamura said nothing.

“I will,” Suga said. He half turned to smile, but it was a pathetic attempt. The cotton wool packing his nose was sodden with blood, and with Suga looking even paler, it was as if he’d become a vampire after a kill.

 

He received a terse text from Sawamura. A one line saying Suga was being kept in overnight.  Tooru replied, asking Sawamura to keep him informed, promising he could return to chauffeur him and Suga around.

**_[I’ll tell the tutor.]_ **

Sawamura didn’t reply, but later Kuroo texted.

**[Suga’s fine. They want him in overnight as he has concussion but it’s just a precaution. Nose and ribs aren’t broken.]**

**_[Thank you.]_ **

**[Also, if you know who the guys are, don’t tell Sawamura yet. He’s not calmed down and wants blood.]**

**_[Okay.]_ **

**[Are you going to the police?]**

There was the question. He should. It was an unprovoked attack, and Suga had now been hospitalised, but he remembered the bus driver assuming they were the troublemakers, and the fact he’d floored the attackers with a bag wasn’t going to play well.

But Suga had been hurt.

**_[I need to speak to Suga. See what he wants to do.]_ **

**[Random attacks need to be reported. ]**

He was fishing, Tooru knew that, but he also knew Kuroo had enough distance and wasn’t going to go off half-cocked.

**_[Homophobia isn’t random, Kuroo-kun.]_ **

**[Right. More reason it should be reported.]**

**_[I know.]_ **

**[I get it’s tricky]**

**_[I have to speak to Suga. The police aren’t going to take my word for it.]_ **

**[Sure. Look, I gotta sleep. If I hear any more, I’ll let you know.]**

He thanked him, then sat back on his sofa staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t dare close his eyes, knowing the attack would play out in front of him in stark black and white, rather than the wisps that entered his awake mind.

_One day, I won’t be there when you wind someone up, and you’ll get a pasting!_

The voice in his head was so loud, flooding the images of the attack, that Tooru turned his head, half convinced he wasn’t alone. But the corners of the room remained dark, and the only sound he could hear was the beep of the washing machine.

 _He started it, Iwa-chan. And you’d have thumped him first_.

He flexed his fingers and wondered about that split second where he’d hesitated.

Because he was unharmed, unmarked, and it was Suga whose face was splattered with red, who had crimson staining his platinum hair. And it was Suga lying in a hospital bed, while Tooru was in his apartment checking fingernails and pondering cowardice.

***

It was Yaku who explained to their sensei why Suga wasn’t in class the following day. He left out the details, merely saying Suga had had an accident the previous night and was waiting to be discharged from hospital. A small gasp rippled around the room, but such was Yaku’s reassuring smile, no one looked unduly upset.

Fujita was watching Yaku as he sat back down. Her eyes didn’t stray from either of them for the early part of the lesson, and Tooru wondered if she caught a word of anything Takahisho-san was saying, she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts.

“When will Suga be out?” Tooru whispered.

“Afternoon, probably.”

“I’ll skip my lecture and go and pick him up.”

Yaku flicked over a page in his book, continuing his notes, but his handwriting was faltering. “Don’t,” he replied.

“Hmm?”

“Daichi’s there. He said they’d take a taxi back.”

“But I can-”

“He was adamant they’d get a cab, Oikawa,” Yaku replied, and turned his wide, headlight eyes towards Tooru. “Don’t push it, okay.”

“I want to help,” he whispered, one eye on Takahisho, but it was fine, their sensei’s attention was elsewhere as he joked with another student. “I feel responsible.”

“And are you?” Yaku muttered.

“Huh?”

“Did you punch Suga?”

“No!”

“Did you kick him?”

“Of course not!”

“Then stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Yaku snapped. “It’s Suga who’s hurt. Accept what they want for now.”

Tooru flinched, and now stung, lashed out. “I’m offering a lift. What’s so wrong in that? Why is Sawamura so adamant I can’t help out?”

“This isn’t about you!” Yaku rolled his eyes and bent his head back over his book.

“Problems?” Takehisho strolled over, a smile glancing across his face, turning into a sigh as he saw Tooru’s unopened book. “Oikawa-kun, _obviously_ I’m pleased at the confidence you show in class, but I do hope you’re not _so_ secure in your abilities you think you can skip the boring parts us lesser mortals rely on when we take notes.”

“I have a good memory, sensei,” Tooru replied, his hackles rising.   _Ugh, you’re just like Dad._

“Then as your memory is so good, perhaps you’d like to turn in your paper early, as it’s clear you’re not going to struggle.”

Tooru glowered, running his tongue across his teeth. “Certainly. When would you like it, sensei?”

His voice carried, although he’d kept it level and un-shrill. Beside him, Yaku stiffened and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fujita sit up straight.

“You’ve got it in hand, have you, Oikawa-kun?” Takahisho drawled. “You’re that confident in your abilities you don’t need to listen to the lecture.”

_Just apologise._

He stared up at Takehisho, saying nothing. And then Tooru, sat back, tapping his pen on the desk, and a half smile flittered onto his face.

Mattsun had said it was the sign he was about to say or do something either very reckless or very brilliant. But the mist had descended, and the urge to kick out was upon him. It was the instinct he had before a game, to wind up the opposing team before they’d started. The same instinct that had led him to confront Sawamura and Karasuno after their practise match. That need to take down his ‘adorable kouhai’.

 _But that didn’t work, Assikawa_.

Leave it alone.

Was that Makki’s hand at his shoulder? Was Mattsun shaking his head? Would Iwa-chan pull him away from a confrontation too far?

They weren’t here. Not physically. Not spiritually – they’d made that very clear with the constant radio silence.  And why did he assume friendships made on court would last the rest of his life?

“Practically finished, sensei,” he trilled at last. “Tweaking and polishing, that’s all.” He widened his eyes and pouted his lips. “I found some very interesting books on the subject.”

“Polishing,” Takahisho stated.

“Just a tad. Should be finished soon.”

Takahisho pounced. “As you’re so sure, then I’ll take your paper early, Oikawa. How about the eleventh?”

 _Shit._ He smiled. “No problem.”

“And as you don’t appear to need my help or opinions, then you might as well leave the class now and not waste anyone else’s time with your disruptive behaviour.”

Don’t lower your gaze. Keep smiling.

“Certainly.”  He got to his feet, packing the one book he’d bothered to get out back into his bag.

“Say sorry,” Yaku hissed, when Takahisho turned away.

“And Yaku,” their sensei continued, “if I find you’ve given him notes of this lecture, then you can turn your paper in early, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I was away and didn't have laptop with me.


	28. Battleground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final! A background character enters the fray. More Futakuchi. The return of two favs. AAAAAND two past players (who make me laugh) turn up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hajime centric chapter. (So a touch lighter than the last one) Hope you enjoy.

Takeda sensei’s suggested collaborator for the volleyball articles was waiting at the bus stop when Hajime arrived. Sandy hair, average height, there was nothing about him that stood out, and Hajime’s eyes slid across him at first before something jabbed in his memory and his attention snapped back.

_What the fuck’s his name?_

For the sensei hadn’t furnished him with that, no doubt assuming that Hajime would know.

_Bollocks, bollocks, what is it again?  Misa mentioned him. And Ennoshita._

But it was no use. He’d not seen this guy play _enough_ , and that was the normal way someone’s name stuck in his memory.

_I can’t call you by your shirt number all afternoon._

“Hey!”  Number seven raised his hand. “Kinoshita Hisashi ... I ... uh ... Yachi suggested me for this and ... um ... the sensei had no objection. Hope that’s okay with you, Iwaizumi-san?” He bowed.

Now knowing the kid’s name, Hajime metaphorically wiped his brow, and greeted Kinoshita with an actual smile rather than his customary scowl.

Which appeared to surprise but luckily not alarm the boy.

“Yeah, sure, Kinoshita-kun. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not really.” He took a slurp from his soda can. “Bus will be here soon. So ... um ... who do you want to win?”

“Ah, I’m strictly neutral.”

“Really?” Kinoshita’s face fell for a second, then he sighed and what appeared to be a natural sunny disposition reasserted itself. “I guess we have to be.”

“Ultra professional and dispassionate,” Hajime intoned. “Factual article on the final.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Hearing the dullness in Kinoshita’s voice, Hajime’s lips twitched. “Actually, I’m rooting for Datekou.”

“Cool, me too!”  Kinoshita grinned.  “Their wall’s awesome!”

“Not infallible.”

“Yeah, I know. Asahi-san got through it, and Hinata, too. But they’re stronger than they were, and ...” He trailed off, and his eyes went as round as his open mouth. “You got past them.” He drew in a breath. “That final point at the Spring High. I watched. You were ... _awesome!_ ”

Accepting the compliment with a curt nod, Hajime busied himself with checking his pockets for his bus pass.

“What did that feel like?” Kinoshita asked, his tone hushed.

“Uh... good, I guess,” he muttered.

 “It looked awe-”

“Awesome, yeah, I get it.” Pulling his face into neutral, he stepped up to the kerb, looking out for the bus.

_The toss the way I liked it._ _He’d tried to set away from the wall. Didn’t think I could get past it._

_But I did. I saw that crack in the wall. I showed them, Oikawa, and I showed you._

“S-sorry, have I annoyed you?” Kinoshita was saying. He was running his hand through his hair, ruffling the spikes, and his face had flushed pink, making the smattering of freckles across his nose more prominent.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hajime replied. “It was one game. One point among quite a lot.”

“I’m not sure I’d ever forget one like that,” Kinoshita breathed. And then he screwed up his face. “Mind you, I’ve not exactly scored a lot of points.”

“Benchwarmer, right?”  Hajime hoped he looked sympathetic, but he’d been a semi-regular since year two at Seijou, had even played in his first year, and couldn’t quite imagine never setting foot on the court. Then something clicked in his brain, an image from the practise match. “You’ve got a pretty mean serve from what I remember.”

“Ah ...” His cheeks went a deeper pink, and his smile was small, but his lips kept trembling, as if he were trying not to look so pleased. “You’ve ... um ...  seen me?”

“Yeah, that practise match. At least three of the girls wanted to learn how to do a float serve after that. Not something I could help them with.”

“It’s a real shame they didn’t get to see Tadashi-kun. He learnt before I did, and has more variety. It’s ... um ... the only way guys like us get to stand on court, and –”

The bus drew up, and with a still chattering Kinoshita, Hajime boarded it.  Sitting at the back, he allowed Kinoshita’s conversation to wash over him, grateful that things were no longer awkward. He seemed a good guy, and one that after initially staring up at him in awe, had relaxed.

“The other guy... uh ... Yamaguchi, is it? He was injured for the practise game, is he better now?”

Kinoshita nodded. “He had a wrist bandage for Interhighs, which messed up his throw.”

“And Hinata? He was subbed out, wasn’t he?”

Kinoshita’s mouth drooped and he sighed, the memory still fresh as it flashed in front of him. “He’s okay. Bump on his head.” He gnawed at the side of his mouth, clouds appearing in his eyes as he considered. “Thinks he lost us the game, which is dumb, but ...”

“He feels responsible.” Hajime heaved out a breath. “Yeah, I get that. Semi finals, though. Not bad for a team in transition.”

It didn’t appear to soften Kinoshita, who moued his mouth. “We’ll be stronger at Spring High. That’s the focus now.”

“You’re not retiring, then?” Hajime asked, taken aback a little by the determination.

“Me?” Kinoshita blinked and scratched the back of his head. “Nah. I’m not college prep or anything like that. No plans for college, so I might as well keep up with the club.”

“Uh ... okay.”

“You look puzzled, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Yeah, it’s just I got out of school because this is counting towards college credits, so how did you swing the day off?”

Kinoshita beamed at him, then reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a smaller case.

A camera.

“I’m your photographer, Iwaizumi-san. And Yacchan thought I might be able to tell you about Karasuno’s semi. I got on for some serves, but watched most of it.” He wrinkled up his nose and tipped his head to one side, assessing Hajime. “Don’t worry, Take-chan gave me permission, I promise.”

 

Hajime had been to a fair few finals, usually as part of a team, frequently a player, occasionally as a cheerleader, once purely as a spectator. With Kitigawa Daiichi, he’d had his first taste of the rivalry that had driven Oikawa. Driven him too, if he were honest. Coming up against Ushijima at an early age, seeing a style he could never emulate but prayed he could thwart, had been a strong motivation during his school years.

_Never managed it._

_(He said my pride was worthless, Iwa-chan. Can you believe that?_

_What did you say back?_

_That my career was far from over. I’ll show him one day. We both will.)_

_But I knew how much it cut into you. It cut me too, you know._

“Whoa, it’s noisy!” Kinoshita’s eyes were round, and the ever-present smile flickered at his lips.

“That’ll be Shiratorizawa,” Hajime explained. “They have this huge cheer squad –”

“Mmm, I know.” 

“Yeah, sorry, course you do.”

“I meant Datekou, actually,” Kinoshita murmured, then he unknitted the frown that was threatening to spill over from his forehead. “They’re loud!”

“Ah, yeah.”

“GO GO LET’S GO LET’S GO DATEKO!”

“Just the one chant,” Kinoshita laughed. 

“It’s all they need. Catchy, isn’t it.”

“I used to find myself tapping my foot to it,” Kinoshita admitted. “Did it put you off at all?”

“Me?” Hajime shook his head. “Nah, I think when you really get into a game, the focus blocks everything else out. At least, it did for me.”

They found some seats, at the front of a block, and fairly central, at least Kinoshita declared himself satisfied as he viewed the court through the camera lens.

“We played a team in Nationals. They had this huge cheer squad,” Kinoshita said after a while, musing as he stared across at the Shiratorizawa crowd. “They kept very quiet whenever their guys served, then booed us.”

“Tactics.” Hajime shrugged, not really wanting to listen.

“Yeah. Their band, though, they started doing that clapping thing you see athletes do, kind of put the guys off their stride when they were serving. Interfered with their rhythm. All deliberate.”

“Not much you can do I guess.” He jiggled some change in his pocket, wondering if he could skip to the kiosk before the game started.

Kinoshita chuckled. “We had Tanaka’s sister.”

“Huh?”

“Turned up with her Taiko band. Don’t think I’ve ever seen our coach smile that much when he heard the drums.” His eyes twinkled, caught up in the memory, but as Hajime decided to chance getting a drink, he shook himself. “Sorry, it’s got nothing to do with today.”

“S’fine. Obviously interests you.”

“It’s sportsmanship, isn’t it? You said tactics, and I get that, but it’s not very fair.”

“It’s a competitive sport. You expect it to be perfect?”

“No, just ... it’s nice when it is, don’t you think? Having the best team win, the one that deserves it, rather than one that -”

“Deserves has nothing to do with it,” Hajime interrupted, adding bluntly, “The team that wins, wins. That’s all there is to it.”

“Haven’t you ever felt you deserved to win?”

 “Nope. I believed we _should_ have won. I went into every game knowing we’d win. I wasn’t wrong that many times.” He finally got to his feet. “Look, I told some mates I’d meet them here, so I’m going to find them and get a drink. Want anything?”

“I have water,” Kinoshita replied, digging into his backpack.

“’K, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Game’s going to start soon,” he replied, his tone a touch reproving. Then he bit his lip and busied himself with opening his water bottle.

“I won’t miss anything.”

Hajime trudged back up the steps, hands in his pocket and let the wave of noise wash over him. They were in a more or less neutral part of the stadium, at least no one around him appeared to be over dressed in teal or purple. Normal people in casual clothes, older than school kids, perhaps unconnected to the teams except through an old loyalty. Or perhaps they were true neutrals.

Oikawa had professed himself a neutral last year. He’d wanted both teams to lose, and Hajime had scoffed at his bad temper, but he understood. For his own part, he’d wanted Karasuno, despite them putting an end to his dreams because then it kind of made sense. But he’d never had the same antipathy Oikawa had had towards the team in black. And in the end, he wasn’t entirely sure Oikawa hadn’t been pleased, too.  They’d both become involved in the game, pushing rivalries aside and just watching ... marvelling that a team had come together to stop another. A team they’d been unable to beat although ...

_We came close._

_(We weren’t losers, Iwa-chan. We just lost.)_

His hand furled around the phone in his pocket, and he pulled it out intending to find out where Mattsun and Makki were. But as he stared at the screen, at his fingers gripping tight, a series of numbers flashed in his head.

_I’ll call. Tell him I’m watching. Have a joke about last year. Maybe we can arrange to meet when he’s back._

_But then ... what if tells me it’s done and that he’s met someone else?_

_No, I’ll do it later._

“Yo!”

“Don’t say that, frat boy!”

“Don’t call me frat boy.”

“That’s what you are.”

“Okay, grease-monkey.”

“That’s _executive_ grease-monkey to you!”

Mattsun and Makki were sauntering towards him, equal smiles of laziness and pleasure on their faces, relaxed and happy, and Hajime couldn’t help grinning at the pair of them.

“Iwaizumi, shut this dumbass up for me, will ya?” Mattsun cat-called.

“Why, what’s he done?” he asked.

“He’s supporting Shiratorizawa.”  Mattsun bared his teeth.

“That’s not what I said!” Makki protested. “Just thought it’d be fun to sit with their fans.”

“Noisy, and we’d never get a decent view in that crowd.” Hajime said and gestured back towards the steps. “We’re down there.”

“We’d get a good view anywhere,” Mattsun said, and smirked. “It’s only shortarses like you who’d -”

Makki interrupted, stretching out his hand to ward off Hajime’s soft punch. “Hold on, who’s ‘we’?”  He looked Hajime up and down. “And why are you wearing a uniform?”

Self conscious, Hajime tugged at his gakuran collar. “I’m writing this up for the Karasuno paper. Sort of news report.”

“Really?” Mattsun started to laugh.

“Where’s your special notebook and Press pass?” Makki asked, smirking.

“And your hat. Don’t journos have to have brown felt hats?” Mattsun said, nudging Makki with his elbow.

Hajime bore it all with grace. It was their natural way, and he knew their teasing wasn’t malicious. “College credits,” he said firmly, then slid past them to get to the vending machine. “Some of us still have to work at it, okay?”

“Hey, I’m putting in the work too,” Makki said. “I need to notch up credits as well.”

“What for?” Hajime asked, waiting for his soda to drop. 

“Placement next year,” Makki replied.

Mattsun had stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking down the steps in his usual measured way, and yet there was a listlessness, slower as usual and he was staring at the floor not ahead.

“You have to apply already?”

“Yeah, unless I want to be stuck in a sushi bar.”

“Ah, right. So where you thinking?”

There was a sudden roar, a wall of sound bouncing off the walls of the stadium, and if Makki had answered, Hajime wouldn’t have heard him. One team walked out on court – Shiratorizawa – and looking down, viewing the team line, Hajime wondered if they’d always looked that small from this vantage point, or whether it was the absence of Ushijima that gave them the appearance of mortals and not gods.

“That Setter’s captain then?” he murmured.

Mattsun had stopped on the stairs, stepping to the side. “Where we sitting?”

“Kinoshita-kun is at the front of that row. Kid with sandy hair.”

He led the way. Around them the wall of noise continued, silencing any conversation they might have had, but Mattsun was brooding and Makki didn’t appear to want to speak either – their banter from a few moments before disappearing into the crowd.

 

Kinoshita stared up at them when they found him. His mouth dropped open and the bottle he held in his hand jerked to the left, spilling over his trousers. Not that he seemed to notice. He blinked rapidly, looked away, slurped some water, and then turned back to face the three of them.  His attention moved to over Makki’s shoulder before flicking in the other direction.

And Hajime knew why.

“Matsukawa and Hanamaki,” he said, making brusque interruptions.

“Haaaa ... yeah ... I know your names,” Kinoshita said, and got rapidly to his feet, bowing to them. He gulped. “Didn’t realise you were the friends Iwaizumi-san meant.”

“You play, right?” Makki said as he shuffled along the row. He gave Kinoshita a smile, a welcoming smile and not a smirk, then took a seat next to him.

“Ha ...yeah ... sort of.”  His hands were still shaking. “Pinch server.”

“They get points,” Mattsun put in, and slid past to take a seat next to Makki. “Kinda hard coming on in a game cold.”

“Especially if you’re a slow starter,” Makki agreed. “One chance and if you mess up you’re off.”

“Yeah.” Kinoshita’s hands were less trembly now and his face seemed to be returning to a normal colour. “Is it ... um ... just the two of you, or ... um ...”

“Just them,” Hajime replied. “Rest of Seijou’ll be in school.”

“Not ... uh ...”

“Nope.” Hajime tugged at the ring pull on his can. “Oikawa’s in Tokyo, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Ha!  Not worried ... but .... uh ...” His eyes were very round, and the flush began to steal back on his face. “I’m with three Seijou legends. This is ...” He grinned. “Awesome!”

“Datekou are taking their time,” Makki murmured. He leant forward, draping his arms over the barrier, scanning the entrance to the court. “Reckon there’s a problem?”

“Stage fright?” Mattsun wondered. “First time they’ve made a final.”

“They made Prefecturals,” Kinoshita said. He supped more of his water. “S’probably Futakuchi being an ass.”

Hajime barked out a laugh, joined almost immediately by Mattsun and Makki, the latter slapping Kinoshita on the back.

“I like you!” Makki cried. “And yeah, you could be right.”

The crowd, already noisy, began a crescendo and the wall of noise closed in on them, louder shriller than before as the other team, the team in white and teal ventured out.

“GO GO LET’S GO LET’S GO DATEKOU!”

“SHIRATORIZAWAAAAAAAA!”

“DID ANYONE BRING EAR PLUGS?” Mattsun yelled.

And then, as the din continued, the teams bowing to each other before they disbanded to start their warm up serves, Hajime’s attention was caught by someone in the Shiratorizawa crowd, standing plum in the centre of their banner, back to the action and conducting the school orchestra.

No one had hair quite like that.

“Fucking hell,” he laughed. “It’s Tendou Satori. Do you reckon Ushiwaka-chan’s here?”

Kinoshita blinked at him. Makki coughed and Mattsun raised his eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Makki replied. “Wonder what Tendou’s doing now. Job maybe?”

“Anyone’s guess,” Mattsun replied, and laughed.

But it was an odd laugh, as if he were pleased the subject had drifted.

Down on the court, Goshiki served. He was strong; the ball screeching into the far corner, and even from the distance, Hajime could see the improvement from last year.

“He’s no Ushijima,” Makki observed, “but he’s good. Gotta be a Shiratorizawa win.”

“Futakuchi’s no slouch,” Hajime countered. “And they’ve been together as a team longer. Shiratori –” He broke off, and laughed as the object of his thoughts turned around, and hung over the barrier to whoop for his old team. “It’s not just Ushijima they’re lacking. There’s only one Guess Monster.”

“That kid just ain’t as strong,” Mattsun mused, his eyes piercing into Goshiki. “Gah, if only we had another go at them.”

“Hinata and Tsukishima say -” Kinoshita blurted out, then spluttered as he took a hurried swig of water.

 “Go on,” Makki urged.

“Uh ... well ... like Ushiwaka-san was hugely strong. He pulverised Blockers and walls and teams and, yeah, Goshiki-kun isn’t in that that league, but he’s ... um ... limber.” He shrugged, and the nervous smile which had lit up his face, now faded into bleakness. “It’s a different style, a different strength. He won the last point for them against us, a straight, just inside the lines.”

“We’d have beaten them without Ushiwaka,” Mattsun insisted.

“Well, yeah, probably,” Kinoshita said, and his smile returned. “And Karasuno would have beaten them even easier.”

“Cocky for pinch server.”

It was good-natured teasing, Mattsun had clearly warmed to Kinoshita, appreciating the boy’s point of view, and watching as they bickered a little over past matches, Hajime felt a sense of distance and peace descending on them all. It was, as Mattsun had said, good to be able to watch and not be clawing at your face with the tension.

_Dispassionate, I can do that._

“But, of course,” Kinoshita was saying, “You had Oikawa-san, so if you’d faced an Ushiwaka-less Shiratorizawa at Inter-Highs, you’d have won.”

_Fuck._

“Hey, we weren’t a one-man team,” Makki interrupted. “And our kouhais are still doing pretty good without us.”

Matsukawa arched one eyebrow and pursed his lips. “What did you think we were? Extras?”

“I didn’t ... uh ... “Kinoshita flushed. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just ... uh ... his reputation ... I mean, obviously you guys were amazing. I said you were legends and ... uh ...”

“Stop digging,” Hajime muttered. “Hanamaki is the biggest wind up merchant there is, and Matsukawa is a close second. We know how good Oikawa was ... um ... is.”

 

The whistle went. The time for practise and warm ups over. Futakuchi and Shirabu stepped forwards to the umpire, awaiting the result of the toss. Both of them nodded, Futakuchi’s head flicked up, twisting around to acknowledge his team.

“Datekou’ve won the toss then,” Mattsun murmured. “They’ll elect to receive.”

“And Goshiki’s about to serve.” Hajime zoned in on him, wondering what he’d do – unleash something spectacular from the start, or would the nerves get a hold of him now he held this most vaunted of positions.

An ace.

Futakuchi’s mouth twisted into a grimace, but in the vanguard, Aone stood up straighter, glaring across the net at Goshiki.

“Game on,” Kinoshita mouthed, his words lost in the roar from Shiratorizawa.

The first set passed quickly. The game, despite Kinoshita’s assurances, was not _on_ , Shiratorizawa racing through the points blindsiding and wrongfooting their opponents with the comparable ease of a first round match. Datekou for all their impressive pedigree looked not solid but stodgy, unable to move.

“It’s like getting to the final was actually their big day,” Mattsun drawled. “Gah, I wanted a better match than this.”

“Bit like us last year,” Kinoshita said. “But we had time to recover. Datekou are going to have to snap back quick.”

“Twenty-five- fifteen is harsh. They’re up against the wall,” Mattsun countered.

“They are the wall,” Hajime said. He gnawed his lower lip, leaning over to watch the Datekou coach as he geed up the team. Futakuchi looked angry, Aone taciturn, Koganegawa bewildered, and their Libero huffing out his cheeks, trying to smile.

Then as the Shiratorizawa orchestra finally paused, a voice rang out across the stadium. “Hey, Futakuchi, you bastard, what the fuck was that set about?”

Even from his seat, Hajime saw Futakuchi glower and flinch. He could feel the rays of irritation waving off the Datekou captain, and the set of his shoulders stiffened. Beside him, Aone rolled his neck, not quite looking at the Datekou stand, and as the voice continued, yelling at the team to put some muscle in it, the others in that stand took up their refrain, drowning him out.

“Go Go Let’s Go Let’s Go, Datekou!”

The team in teal ended their break, striding back on court. To the untrained eye, they looked the same as ever, but Hajime recognised the purpose, and the determination rippled outwards to the stands.

“Who was that?” Makki queried, his eyes scanning the Datekou crowd.

“Kamasaki-san,” Kinoshita supplied. “He was their ace before –”

“Ah, yeah, I remember now.”

“Datekou third years always used to turn up to watch,” Kinoshita replied, then shrugged. “They even made it to a practise match once. Odd way to support, though. Could easily backfire.”

“Nah, he’s picking on the Captain not the team. Futakuchi needs firing up,” Hajime muttered.

“Some players play better riled,” Mattsun agreed, and reaching right across he rubbed Hajime’s head. “Ain’t that right, Ace!”

He was saved having to think up a snarky retort by Aone picking up the ball for the start of set two.

Whether it was the voice in the crowd, a perpetual heckler who led the Datekou chant, and then traded insults with Tendou across the stadium, or whether it was a case of finding their rhythm, Datekou settled properly into the match at the beginning of the second set. With purposeful blocks, Futakuchi rediscovering the form that had got them past Seijou, their Setter toning down his excesses, and Aone proving again his steadfastness, they took the second set. Instead of taking the game to Shiratorizawa, they took it from them, absorbing each spike, and punishing the slightest error.

Shiratorizawa in the first set had been impregnable, now they were flustered and unsure. Shigeru’s tosses were stable, but he relied too much on Goshiki.

_And Goshiki, unlike Ushijima, is fallible,_ thought Hajime. He scribbled some notes on the pad in front of him, then nudged Kinoshita. “Make sure you get photos of Goshiki as he jumps for a spike. Also Futakuchi.”

“I have some.”

“Yeah, I know. Just the angle I’m thinking about.”

“For the match report?”

“Not sure,” he turned his head to one side, thinking aloud “Responsibilities of an Ace. They have to be infallible.”

“Never gonna happen. Even Ushiwaka was beaten,” Makki put in. “Whoa, great receive there from Onagawa!”

“Good toss, and ....” Mattsun held his breath. “Slammed down by Aone. That’s a cool play. He flicked that straight to the Setter. Well judged.”

“Yeah, I meant they have to have the appearance of imperviousness. Once you know someone can be beaten, then it gives the opponent hope,” Hajime continued when Shiratorizawa called a timeout. “Goshiki’s not quite got that yet.”

“It’s not just about Aces,” Makki protested. “Or Setters.”

“I know. Team of six, I get it. I wrote the fucking book on that particular sermon. I’m just ... I guess what I mean is that at odd moments in a match, it does just come down to one person. Or two, cause it’s a one on one no matter how many are in that wall, and the Ace is expected to get through.” Hearing the passion and fury in his voice, he laughed in an attempt to dispel his sentiments, aware the others were focusing on him. “Team game, yeah, but there are moments of individual brilliance. You only had to see Oikawa serve to know that.”

 “He’s playing, right?” Kinoshita asked, and swallowed. “Suga-san said he was at the same college as him and Daichi-san.”

“Mmm.” Hajime nodded, the others were quiet.

“And Ushijima-san’s at Kyoto,” Kinoshita put in.

“You stalking everyone from Miyagi, or just the decent players?” Makki joked.

“Uh ... n-no, but you were wondering if Ushiwaka might turn up, and it’s probably not that likely. They have a game coming up against Tokyo. College tournament, Suga-san said, so he’s probably practising.” He flushed again. “Sorry, you must know that, being Oikawa-san’s friend and all that.”

Mattsun whistled. “Whoa, so he’s getting another chance.”

“Without us.” Makki clutched his shirt. “My heart is breaking.”

But despite the melodrama, he sounded faintly wistful.

_Without me,_ Hajime thought. _Has he found an ace that doesn’t let him down?_


	29. Among the flock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack, and Tooru reflects on friendships - old and new.

 “I thought you said he was okay?” Tooru demanded on seeing Kuroo - but not Suga or Sawamura - at practice.

“He is.” Kuroo flipped his hair off his face and smiled, albeit grimly. “Concussion and his ribs hurt. No, they’re not broken, but the thing with ribs is you can’t rest them when you’re injured. They move when you breathe, so you can’t stop them moving, or...”

“You die,” put in Yaku, snorting as he faced Tooru. “We’ve had the med student sounding off all night. Suga’ll be fine, but he’s been told to take it easy, so he’s contacted his tutors and is working from home.” He paused, his wide, knowing eyes flicking to Tooru’s face. “Don’t even _think_ about making a surprise visit while Daichi’s there.”

“He’s _still_ angry with me?”

“Not _really_ ,” Kuroo said after a while. “But he’s annoyed ‘cause Suga won’t tell him who did it, and if you go over he’ll want you to tell him.”

“I can keep a secret, you know.”

“He’s persistent,” Yaku remarked.

“And very crafty,” Kuroo admitted, with admiration seeping into his tone. “You’ll have spilled before you know it, and then Sawamura will launch his attack.”

“Maybe they deserve it,” Tooru said, keeping his voice mild, but inside he shuddered when he remembered Suga on the ground, curled into a ball as he sustained each kick to his ribs.

“Not if it means Sawamura getting chucked out of college. That’s why Suga won’t tell him, and that’s why he doesn’t want you going round there,” Kuroo warned.

Yaku tugged on his sleeve. “Also, Suga has spoken to the police – I’m not sure he wanted to, but someone at the hospital called them in, so he’ll need you to back him up.”

“Of course.”

***

The kouban _,_ bar two police officers, was empty when Tooru arrived. He took a deep breath, loitered for a while, and then realising he probably looked suspicious, he strode inside.

He’d never spoken to the police before, not about anything, and although he knew he had to be here, his palms were sweating at the thought.

“Can I help you?” asked the female officer behind the front desk.

“Um...” He looked around, partly to check she was talking to him, and thought of walking out. He should have accepted Yaku’s offer to accompany him, but at the time, fired up with thoughts that it was the right thing to do, Tooru had declined.

“Well?” she said, not unkindly.

“I’ve been asked to make a statement,” he replied and swallowed. “Uh, my friend was attacked and he reported it to the police at the hospital and they said I should come here.” He bit his lip. “Sugawara Koushi is the victim. I was with him.”

“Oh yes, I was the one he spoke to.” She smiled sympathetically, and gestured with her hand to a room. “Come this way.”

The room was very much as he’d imagined. No comfort, a table between them, a camera on the wall and a tape recorder set up. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Tooru wondered how guilty or believable he looked.

“Could you tell me what happened?” the policewoman asked. She set some tea in front of him. “We have Sugawara-kun’s account, but we’d like yours.”

“Um... yes.” He made to pick up the cup but his hands were shaking so he furled them into fists instead. “Sorry.”

“Take your time.”

 “Okay. We were at the bus stop - Koushi ... uh ... Sugawara had been studying at mine – and then two men saw us, crossed over the road and ... um ... one of them hit Suga.”

“Had you been arguing?”

“Well, a few words, I suppose. Banter. I know one of them a little. He doesn’t like me.”

She nodded, noting everything down. “And was the one who hit Sugawara the one you knew?”

He swallowed. “Yes. He’s called Kato. He’s at our university.”

“And the other?”

“Oh, I don’t know him, but Kato called him Ando.”

“So this Kato punched Sugawara. And then what?”

He thought back. “It happened quickly, but I pushed Ando and ... oh ... hold on...”

“Take your time,” she repeated.

“We’d had a bit of an argument first – more an exchange of words. Kato tried to grab me and I dodged him. He stumbled,” Tooru stated. “ _Then_ he lashed out at Suga –”

“Why?” she asked. “I thought he was arguing with you.”

“Well, yes, he was, but he couldn’t get to me and Suga was closest, I suppose.” He shook his head. “Kato went to hit Suga again, but he dodged and then he tripped and fell to the floor.”

“Is that when Sugawara hit his head?”

Nodding, Tooru picked up his tea, taking a sip and pleased his hands had stopped shaking.

“And then what happened?”

“The other guy tried to jump me but I pushed him away. Kato was kicking Suga and –”

“Kicking?  You saw that, did you?”

“Yes, Suga was on ground and Kato was kicking him, then Suga kicked him on the shin and –” _Should I have said that?_

“Sugawara kicked Kato, then?”

“In self-defence! Plus he’d just bashed his head and was very woozy afterwards, so I’m not sure he’d have known exactly what he was doing,” he continued, his heart rate as rapid as his words.

“And did you try to help your friend?”

He hesitated. It was obvious. She stared at him, tapping her pen on the table.  But he ploughed on. “Yes, I did,” he said at last. “I picked up the bag and whacked them both with it. The bus came along at that moment, but it wouldn’t stop for us, so Suga and I ran back to mine.”

“Ran?”

“Um, limped, I suppose. I half carried him.”

“And the two ‘attackers’?”

He could hear the inverted commas and his heart plunged. “They were on the ground.”

“How badly hurt were they?”

“They’d fallen over, that was all. I didn’t stay and check!” He could feel his hackles rising. “My priority was my friend.”

She flashed him another smile, less friendly this time. “And what was their motive, would you say, Oikawa-kun?”

And here was the nub of it, for he had no idea how much of this would get back to his parents. Or Koushi’s and Sawamura’s. He stared at her, maintaining eye contact. “Kato doesn’t like me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Clash of personalities, I guess,” he replied smoothly.

“And what were you arguing about?”

“Nothing much. Kato was yelling at us. I think he and his friend might have had a drink.” He frowned trying to remember. There was something else, but it wouldn’t come back to him. “We wouldn’t talk to them. That seemed to annoy them.”

She nodded again, thanked him, and then after getting his signature on the statement, said they’d be in touch.

 

**_[Koushi, I’ve made my statement. I didn’t know what to say about their motive, so I might have fudged it.]_ **

The reply pinged back. **[Thank you. I told them I didn’t know why, either.]**

**_[How are you?]_ **

But Suga didn’t reply.

***

And now, three days later, Tooru stared at his phone, willing a text to appear. Suga hadn’t been seen, and Tooru couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that Suga was avoiding him.

He closed his eyes, his hands tightening around his phone, and swallowed down the regret.

_This is dumb._

**[Can I come over?]** he typed.

The screen flashed. Finally an answer! **_[Aren’t you busy?]_**

**[Not particularly]**

**_[Morisuke said you had an essay to hand in – early!]_ **

**[Yes, that’s in hand]** he lied. **[But can I come over?]**

**_[Rather you didn’t.]_ **

**[Is Sawa-chan still mad?]**

**_[spitting feathers, which isn’t a good thing for a crow.]_ **

**[I won’t say anything to him.]**

**_[you might.]_ **

**[He must know going around punching people isn’t a very good thing to do if you’re a law student.]**

**_[Of course he does. And that’s not what he’s about to do.]_ **

**[Then why are you worried?]**

**_[There are other ways to fuck up your future, Tooru.]_ **

**[Are you going to explain?]**

But the phone stayed silent. Suga was either being deliberately enigmatic or perhaps Sawamura had returned and he didn’t want to annoy him.

Turning to a textbook, Tooru opened a tab on his laptop and perused his essay.

Despite the time constraints, he’d made reasonable progress and knew if he put in the effort, then even though he’d be handing it in before the others, he’d still turn something in that should garner decent marks. He enjoyed the subject, despite not liking his tutor, and by ditching the lectures, he’d been able to read around the subjects. And although Yaku had offered to lend him his notes (on the proviso Tooru made only the vaguest allusion to them) he’d refused.

(“You could always apologise,” Yaku had suggested.

“For what? He’s the one who demanded the essay in early.”

“You did push it, Oikawa.”)

The one problem, as far as he could gather, was that according to the syllabus, the lectures he was now missing were ones that could be very important. Knowing Takahisho as he did, he realised his tutor would heavily hint at certain areas that should be included or at least referenced. If he left anything out, then Takahisho would mark him down.

And take great pleasure in it.

He could apologise. Could easily ask for the same amount of time as the others, then rejoin the lessons. It was stupid to take this hard route to prove a point. Especially as he’d forgotten what point he was trying to make.

But the sensei would sneer, would drop the phrase ‘I told you so’ into any future conversation at every opportunity. He gnawed on his lip, refocused his attention on the text book, and reached for his glasses.

(“Why are you wearing glasses?”

“Eyestrain.”

“Bollocks! You think you look cool, right?”)

Scowling, Tooru put the glasses away.

Someone was laughing, he was sure of it. A noise like a scoff, familiar and vaguely irritating, upsetting his equilibrium and his assurance that he was right. He looked over his shoulder, but there was no one close by.

_Iwa-chan?_

But there was no reply. Even the voice in his head had dulled.

Annoyed as his concentration began to fade and he realised he was repeating the same stock phrases,  Tooru packed up his books and laptop and headed to the only place he knew he’d find some semblance of peace. He had his kit, he always did, but even if he hadn’t, even if the courts had been closed, he’d have found a ball and taken it to practise somewhere – anywhere.

Mid- afternoon, and the college courts weren’t busy. Some seniors were practising – a three-on three – and he watched them as he warmed up. They weren’t regulars, more like club members than teammates. They were laughing, enjoying the exercise spiced with competition.

It’s fun for them.

It’s life for me.

Someone was at the far corner court. Someone who was throwing the ball high in the air, then smashing it down with immense effort, aiming at cones set out on the opposite side. The aim of this player was true, deadly, and yet there was a lack of power, which Tooru found puzzling.

“Hey, Bokuto-chan, want me to set for you?”

“Huh?”  Bokuto didn’t turn, bending down to pluck up another ball. “Yeah, I guess.”

He was stretching, half-twisting to face Tooru, but instead of the smile which usually wreathed his face when he was about to practise, all Tooru could see were dark eyes, hooded and wary. For a moment, Tooru wondered if Bokuto had been hit, so blue were the circles under his eyes, but there were bags too, the result of no sleep and precious little rest either.

“You look awful,” he told him.

“Not as bad as Suga-kun,” Bokuto said. He wasn’t tight-lipped, just sounded weary.

“You’ve seen him?”

“Yeah, went over last night.” He began to bounce the ball on the floor, watching each thud, glancing up intermittently towards Tooru. “You know something; Kato was beaten up that night?”

“Was he?”

He stepped closer, eyeing Tooru warily.

“I didn’t say anything to anyone, but ... uh ... when Kato got in -” He dropped the ball, letting it dribble away. “-someone pointed out he had a bruise on his face. He said he was jumped by three guys.”

_One and a bag._

“Hmm, we were attacked by two,” Tooru said, keeping his voice level. “Maybe he’s exaggerating.”

“Yeah, I figured he just fell over – he was pretty out of it.” Bokuto huffed out a breath, his lips thrumming. “Then they got noisy, someone had some whisky, and I got no sleep. Soon as I think they’ve had enough, Kato starts it up again.”

“So you came here.”

“I’ll fall asleep in class otherwise. This is the best way to wake up. Might go over to Shirofuku’s later, see if she’ll let me kip at hers. Can’t keep bugging the guys, not with Suga laid up. And their landlord’s getting antsy ‘bout guests staying over.”

“You could come to mine.” The words came out on instinct, words he’d never thought of saying, and could well regret, but he didn’t feel the usual kick in his gut to retract the offer. “Stay over if you want.

“Really?” His face lit up, then he pulled a pout.

 “Um ... yes, why not.”

“Will your dad mind?”

“He’s not there, Bokkun.”

Oh...” He visibly drooped, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. “Don’t spose you learnt how to make his pancakes, have ya?”

***

Heading out of his Astronomy class two hours later, Tooru made his way to the cafeteria. Bokuto would be there after his class and they’d agreed to meet, then go back to the apartment before returning to college for practice. It was four o’clock, the time where students were either going home, or settling down with food and the cafeteria was buzzing. With his laptop bag over his shoulder, and kitbag in hand, Tooru shifted between the milling students, twisting his way between them, his eyes scanning the tables and the queue, looking out for the strange grey hair, a head taller than most of the people here.

Of Bokuto, there was no sign, but in the middle of the queue, one figure, shorter, stocky and dark, was fishing around in a wallet for some change. Tooru’s gaze flicked around, checking for someone else, his chest suddenly hollowing. But he couldn’t see a halo of silver hair – it seemed that Sawamura was on his own.

Something stopped Tooru from moving. Three days ago, he’d have approached and made conversation. Although he was, as Shirofuku had pointed out, closer to Suga, Sawamura and he were on good terms. He liked jogging with the guy and was coming to view him as a valuable person to have around – not just on court – but as an ally, as someone to have a laugh with, swap ideas with, just to chat to. But now, the coldness of Sawamura’s text, the fact that he so obviously disapproved of Tooru’s actions on that night, hit him hard. Swallowing, he stopped a little, busying himself with his laptop strap. Then he wriggled back the way he’d come, selected a soda from the vending machine and moved to the outside area.

He texted Bokuto, telling him it was too crowded inside and he’d meet him by the fountain in the courtyard, then sat and watched as the water burbled and swirled against the grey stone, the early summer sunshine making it sparkle like diamonds. Dabbling his hand in the water, letting the cold drift through his fingers, a sense of peace descended over Tooru. It was less noisy out here, reminding him more of Seijou and the late afternoons before practise started, when he’d wait for Iwa-chan to bowl out of his class. Snatched minutes before Mattsun and Makki arrived, ones where they didn’t squabble but passed pleasantries, or moaned about their respective classmates. Unwinding and getting rid of the stresses of the day before the important work could begin. And Iwa-chan would invariably, even in winter, splash his face with water, drops glistening on his brows and lashes, so bright that Tooru would want to reach out and touch.

But he never had. He’d told himself it was a perfection thing, a need to tidy Iwa-chan up, the same way he wanted to keep the loops in his own laces the same length, or hated a tie being crooked. Looking back, he wondered if that was where it had started, those moments waiting after class with no one else there.

Or maybe it had begun for him when Hani had dumped him, and he’d really not cared because now there was more time to sit and wait and pass the time of day carelessly with Iwa-chan before practise, without thinking he had to somehow split his time between them.

_I never asked when it started for him._

_Maybe it was only when I made that first move?_

_Is that’s why he’s not bothered now because ... there’s no pressure?_

“Hey, you all right, Oikawa-kun?”

“Hmm?” He stopped paddling his palm in the water, looked up and found a large pair of amber eyes staring down at him.

“Ah, Bokkun, sorry, have I kept you waiting?”

“Nah, I’m gonna grab a coffee and then we can go. Is that cool?”

“Mmm, fine. I’ll ... be here.”

He watched Bokuto leave, not sure if he was pleased or sad that his reverie had been broken, then closed his eyes.

_Don’t look back,_ he’d told Suga, but as the weeks passed and the silence from Miyagi deafened him, he found himself drawn back to those times, not just the months they were together as a couple, but deeper memories of friendship emerged.

He hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t wanted any of it, had thought in his darker moments that he’d never manage without Iwa-chan by his side. And yet here he was, surviving a first term at college, snapping on the heels of the college team and regular play, and about to kick ass with an essay.

The sun had gone in. At least that was what he thought at first because his eyelids had fluttered open when a shadow had crossed them. Yet it wasn’t a cloud blocking the rays from his sight, but a looming figure.

Kato stood there, alone surprisingly, dressed in baggy jeans and the sort of vest that only Iwa-chan could get away with because with its huge armholes, it highlighted the scragginess of the wearer’s arms and chest.

“Yo, pretty boy. I had a visit from the police, thanks to you,” Kato whispered.

“I think you’ll find it’s all down to this habit you have of attacking people at bus stops,” Tooru replied. “The police aren’t keen on that sort of behaviour.”

“They’re not keen on someone falling over being reported as a crime, either,” Kato replied and stroked the side of his face sporting a bruise. “We’ve got a score to settle.”

Tooru held his gaze, not blinking. “Are you suggesting a duel, Kato-chan? Samurai swords, perhaps?”

“I’m suggesting you shut the fuck up about that night at the bus stop, or I’ll get you in deepest shit.”

“You will, will you?”

“Yeah.” Kato shuffled closer, then sat on the rim of the fountain, a smile on his face. “Doubt you’ll be as popular when everyone knows you’re gay.”

“Doubt you’ll gain any popularity at all when people realise you go around assaulting people at bus stops, Kato-chan,” Tooru said sweetly, twisting his fingers in the water, watching as the ripples began to lap against the stone. “Or that it was one person who took you down, and not the three you claimed jumped you.”

“Fucking Bokuto!” He glowered. “I’ll still tell everyone about you.”

Tooru cocked an eyebrow, plastering what he knew was his most infuriating expression on his face, the one Mattsun called his ‘just hit me now’ face, and leant forward. “It’s not a secret,” he whispered.  Then he curled his lip, changing from pleasant to vengeful on the turn of a screw.  “But maybe you don’t want people to know how much you overreact, and how violent you get with a few drinks inside you.”

Psychology ... it was all part of the game, and it served him well. Working out how teammates ticked, how the opposition thought, had always intrigued him. Watching an opponent, waiting for him to react excited him even as he held Kato’s gaze.

Except this was not a game, and in this case there was no net between them.  

And all of a sudden, Kato reminded Tooru of Kyoutani. There was a flinch and a stubbornness about him, that moment where Tooru had assumed Kyoutani was wary and thus malleable, but it had taken someone else to bring the Mad-Dog to heel, someone whose show of strength was in fact far more than just a show.

But Mad-Dog, for all his fury had never been violent to anyone but himself.

“Fuck you! If you drag me down, you’ll learn about consequences,” Kato seethed, and reaching out, he grabbed Tooru’s wrist. “Sportsman, right.” He squeezed. “What d’you think would happen if you broke your arm?”

His heart leapt to his throat. That fear, that cloying terror clogging up his vocal chords and the usual deflecting words refused to fall from his lips.

_Don’t let him win, Oikawa!_

Clenching his stomach and curling his toes, Tooru stared at Kato, refusing to let his eyes drop. From the way Kato’s expression began to change, a rapid blink and a look of confusion, Tooru assumed his own stance hadn’t altered, that nothing on his face was betraying the turmoil inside.

He tried a smile, small, then as his lips began to tremble, he stretched it wide. He prayed his voice kept steady, then adding a trill of a laugh, he said, “You look very pink, Kato-chan. Perhaps you need to cool off.”

Then, with another smirk, he pushed against Kato’s chest, a sudden shove to propel him into the water. Kato yelped, and tried to right himself, but his flailing arm clutched at air, while his other arm - his other hand – clasped Tooru’s sleeve tighter. And it would have been comical seeing the horror on Kato’s face when he realised nothing was going to save him from a ducking, except that Tooru was sure the same horror was mirrored on his own.

Sideways they both fell, Kato gripping harder, not now, Tooru was sure, to stop the plunge, but more to ensure Tooru suffered the same fate.

“OH!” Another hand grabbed at Tooru, hauling him up and out of the water before he’d barely hit the surface.

The hand on his shoulder gave a squeeze, and Tooru took in for the first time who it was. Her mouth was open, face pale, as she bit her lip, sorrowful and pleading.

“Fujita-kun,” he murmured, looking up at her. “Thank you.”

 “I _could_ report you for this!” Kato said, eyes fixed on Tooru. He flicked his attention to Fujita. “You saw it.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. All I saw was both of you falling.”

“You really want to push that,” Tooru said mirthlessly. “I will retaliate, and you know I can.”

“No witnesses,” Kato said, and getting to his feet, he waded to the edge of the fountain, looking down on Tooru.

“I’m a witness,” Fujita blurted out.

“You said you saw nothing,” Tooru said, wondering what was going on. Was Fujita about to turn him in?

She swallowed again, and her hands clenched and unclenched.  “I mean the other night. The attack on Sugawara-san.”

“What?” Kato blinked. “What attack? What’s this asshole told you?”

“I was on the bus,” she said firmly. “I saw everything. I had my phone, too.” She got it out of her pocket, gripping firmly, and when Kato tried to snatch it, she dodged nimbly out of the way.

“I think this is what they call an ‘impasse’,” Tooru said very sweetly. He stood up, and in front of Fujita. “Leave me alone, Kato. Leave my friends alone and - ”

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s happening?” It was Bokuto bowling up to them, coffee in his hand, kitbag over his shoulder, and a frown hurriedly replacing his usual smile.

“Kato-chan went swimming,” Tooru said, gesturing towards the fountain.

And then he saw it.

He rolled his shoulders, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but they were light, unencumbered by anything. Unencumbered by the laptop he’d been carrying, which was now at the bottom of the fountain.

“NO!” Tooru shrieked, and without stopping, he leapt back into the fountain, to pluck the laptop from its watery grave.  Sodden droplets dripped onto his shoes. “How waterproof are these cases?”

“Um...” Fujita stared in shock.

“Might be okay,” Bokuto said. “I dropped my phone in the bath once and I stuck it in some rice and –”

Kato laughed, the sound abruptly cutting off Bokuto’s well-meaning advice.  “Serves you fucking right.”  He walked off, squelching a little, then turned his head. “Hope you had something important on there, asshole.”

Unzipping the laptop bag, Tooru assessed the damage, but any hope his case was waterproof was lost when he saw the pool of water his laptop was swimming in.

“I’m screwed,” he groaned.

“If it’s not turned on, then you might be okay ...” Fujita said tentatively, her voice trailing off.  She gasped. “Oikawa-san, your essay? You have backed everything up, haven’t you?”

_Course you haven’t. How many times did we nag you about that?_

“I’m screwed,” he repeated, and sank to the ground.

Fujita murmured something, he couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded comforting, but while he waited for her to finish, to suggest a solution, she trailed off, instead resorting to patting him on the shoulder, then hurriedly removing her hand.

 “You could ask for an extension?” Fujita suggested, a question in her voice. “I’m sure Takahisho-sensei would grant you one under the circumstances.”

“And give him the satisfaction!  No thanks!”

“Nah, come on!” Bokuto grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. “We can try some stuff.”

“What stuff? My laptop’s gone swimming. I need it back so I can finish and print off an essay that I have to hand over in three days.”

“You’re forgetting that we know a guy.”

“What?” 

Too surprised by Bokuto’s sudden burst of energy (although why he should have been surprised, he didn’t know because Bokuto lived like a supernova) Tooru didn’t protest when Bokuto dragged him across the forecourt and out of the gates.

“Where are we going?”

“Told ya.”

“No, no you didn’t.”

“Didn’t I?” Bokuto turned around, a little puzzled but continued to speed through the milling students.

“So, who is this person?”

“Kuroo.”

“Uh ... Med student, Bokuto-chan, not an IT expert.”

“Yeah, but he knows a guy. C’mon!”

They careened through the people after that, Bokuto making light of the bags he was carrying, a smile on his face and some odd tune on his lips as he hustled his way through the Tokyo crowd.

“Bus,” he said at last, coming to a stop. “And while we wait, take out the battery, that’s what I was told to do.”

Not even grumbling (it made sense after all), Tooru hurriedly pulled out the battery. The bus arrived within minutes, and both piled on, standing near the door ‘so’s we can make a quick exit’ Bokuto had pointed out.

And the sense of doom, although it still hung around him, had lessened to a degree with Bokuto’s presence. His positivity made light of the issue, and even if it was misplaced, it was impossible not to be infected – even a little – with his optimism.

Bokuto had phoned ahead, and Kuroo opened the door to them his mobile in his hand and saying some ‘uh-huh’s’ and ‘can I hand you over?’ to someone on the phone. Whoever it was had clearly said no, because Kuroo turned his back to Tooru and Bokuto, gesturing with his free hand towards the kitchen.

“How long was it in the water for?” he rapped out.

“Five minutes?” Tooru guessed. “If that. And it was in a case.”

Kuroo shushed him, talking into the phone. “Yeah, case is one of those light things. Not waterproof.”

“It was turned off!” Tooru interrupted.

“Uh-huh. He says it was turned off. And yeah, he’s removed the battery.” He barked out a laugh. “Do I look like I have a hairdryer? SUGA!”

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to the doorway, and Tooru heard another door creak open, and faltering footsteps approaching.

“Hey,” Suga raised his hand, looking wary but not unpleased. “What’s up?”

His face was a mess. Even though Tooru knew bruising looked worse when it was getting better, the sight of Suga’s nose and eyes smudged purple and yellow, shocked him to his core.

“You have a hairdryer?” Kuroo asked.

Suga shook his head. “Leave my hair to air dry. Why do you need one?” His eyes scanned Tooru. “Oh, wet trousers. You can hang them on our balcony if you want. Kuroo’ll have trousers you can borrow.” He squinted to the side. “Hey Bokuto, how are you?”

“Uh ... cool,” Bokuto was blinking, his voice a little shaky, and then he stepped forwards. “You don’t look great. Sorry for disturbing ya, but Oikawa’s laptop ...emergency type thing.”

“Oh...” Suga shuffled into the kitchen. “Um, I’d suggest rice. That fixed my phone but –”

“Yeah, Kenma reckons rice might sort it out, but it’ll take a while. I reckon a hairdryer’s your best bet, but even then ...”

Tooru swallowed, not liking the sound of Kuroo’s voice as he trailed off. “Surely if it wasn’t turned on, then –”

“You hear that?” Kuroo murmured. He rolled his eyes. “Look, you explain to him. It’s too technical for me.”

Tooru snatched up the phone, garbled a quick ‘Hi’ then waited. He could hear breaths, light and fast and then a gruff sort of voice. “Uh ... hi. Uh ... have you taken the battery out?”

“Yes.”

“’K. That’s good. You ... uh ... need to disassemble as much of the laptop as possible and put the parts in silica gel.”

“What?”

“Or rice.” The voice on the end of the phone flinched and rasped out the reply.

In front of him, Kuroo pursed his lips, his hand twitching to take back the receiver, so Tooru automatically went into soothe mode, smiling a ‘thank you’ and ‘go on’.

“It was turned off and in a case,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna help if water’s got into the screen. Also, your computer’s never really off,” said the voice, sounding a little clearer, “because the CMOS battery never powers off-”

“But I took the battery out!” Tooru protested. “Bokuto told me too.”

“He did?” The voice sounded impressed, then he coughed. “The CMOS battery’s really small. It’s on continuously so the date and time don’t switch back to zero.And if that’s caused a short circuit, then you’re kinda screwed.”  Another cough. “It’s ... um... up in the air. Might not be damaged much, but it’ll take a while before you’ll be able to see.”

“How long is a while?”

“Days, weeks, maybe?” The voice sounded as if it shrugged, then as an afterthought added. “Sorry.”

“I have an essay to hand in soon. And before you ask, I haven’t backed it up.”

No condemnation, not even a faint hiss. “Hard drive might be okay, but you need to remove it carefully.”

“And dry with a hairdryer. Only I’ve got one of –”

“NO!” yelped the boy. “Using a hairdryer’s really bad. That’s what I was trying to tell Kuro, but he wasn’t listening.” He took a deeper breath and when he returned to the conversation he sounded more forceful, quiet, but with an air of authority. “Look, I could probably do this for you, but I can’t get to Kuro’s right away. Maybe try a tech shop. Ask them to remove the hard drive and –”

“I could get it out. Just tell me where it is.”

There was a pause, and then, “Is Yaku-san there?”

“No.”

“Uh... okay, hand me over to Bokuto-san.”

He passed the phone over. Bokuto after a preliminary ‘hey there, Kenma-kun!’ pulled his brows together and became serious, his expression intense. “Yeah, I got ya. I can do that.”

With the phone propped under his chin, Bokuto asked for screwdrivers, snorting when Suga handed him a new – barely used – set, saying he needed something much smaller. Kuroo found one in his room, and the three of them watched as Bokuto under instruction, removed the hard drive, then wrapped it in a towel. He handed the phone back, and Tooru spoke again to his saviour, thanking him.

“I might not be able to save everything,” Kenma muttered. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

Staring at the wreckage, Tooru slumped in a chair. Bokuto had followed Kuroo into the lounge, where they’d started a loud conversation about training camp and something about watermelons. But Suga stayed in the kitchen, switching on the kettle.

“What happened?” he asked, setting a mug of white coffee in front of Tooru.

“Small disagreement with Kato-chan,” Tooru murmured. “The police interviewed him and he’s not happy.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Suga eased out a breath, wincing. “I shouldn’t have reported it.”

“It’s fine,” Tooru replied. He reached out, touching Suga’s hand. They were cold, too cold for a summer day, so he cupped them in his.  “It was my fault. I pushed him in the fountain. He grabbed me. Fujita-kun saved me, but sadly my laptop slid off my shoulder.”

“But it wouldn’t have happened if I’d not reported it.”

“No, he’d have been worse,” Tooru said, squeezing. “At least this way he knows we won’t take anything lying down.”

 “Have you told anyone else who it was?”

Tooru shook his head. “Do you still think Sawamura will seek them out and start a fight?”

Suga sighed. “No, he won’t. He’s angry, but he’s not reckless, not when the heat of the moment’s passed.”

Tooru said nothing, but raised one eyebrow.

“I might want to believe that we live in this Utopia where no one can touch us, but the sad fact is Daichi and I have to be discreet.” He sniffed. “The Law faculty is very ... um ... traditional, but it’s not just that. Basically if everything comes out, Daichi’s parents have threatened to stop funding him.”

“So it was Sawamura who asked you not to give their motive?”

“No, Daichi wanted me to report it in full, but I won’t. I’m not fucking up his future. The only thing I’m really pissed off about is that Kato and his friend might get away with it and could easily try again. And it’s our word against theirs, so it’s not a given they’ll believe me just because I took the brunt of it.”

Tooru gave a soft smile and after another brief squeeze, he removed his hand from Suga’s. “I think we’re fine. Fujita-san saw them. She was on the bus and she filmed it.”

“Oh?” Through his puffy, bruised eyes, Suga’s irises sparkled. “That is good news.” He sipped his coffee and relaxed back in his chair. “I love the way you floored them with one hit. Must remember that move.”

Tooru put down his drink and clasped his hands together, staring dead ahead. “I hesitated. I should have punched them, then Kato might not have got his kicks in. I’m sorry.”

“Hum, you thought of the best move. I call that smart.” He gave a wry smile. “You’ve always had great game sense, Tooru.”

“I’m sorry,” Tooru repeated, feeling nothing was adequate enough, not when Suga was still surreptitiously clutching his ribs.

“Enough!” Suga got to his feet, carrying his cup, and beckoned to Tooru. “Come on, my room.”

“Sugawara Koushi, what are you suggesting?”

“Ha – your essay. As you’re not going to get access to your laptop until Kenma-kun’s visited, you can make a start here.”

“Takahisho warned Yaku off, and everyone in that class,” he admitted gloomily. “I think it’s supposed to teach me a lesson. Maybe I should just suck it up and apologise.”

“Now that does not sound like the Oikawa Tooru I’ve come to know,” Suga said, and beckoned again. “Come on. As I’ve not been in, our sensei hasn’t said a word to me. I know I’m only in the core lectures, but I’ve got some notes that will help.”

“You, Sugawara Koushi, are an angel in human form,” Tooru said, and pretended to swoon.

Suga grinned, not even wincing. “Looks are deceptive,” he replied and winked. “Besides, you saved me from getting even more of a pounding, so this is the very least I can do.”


	30. View from the Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mattsun does what everyone else has been yelling for weeks, and lets rip at Hajime ... sort of.

“Datekou. Wow!” Kinoshita huffed out his cheeks. “That was unbelievable.”

“Not sure they can quite believe it either,” Mattsun said, getting to his feet.

“Shiratorizawa look crushed. Two finals, two losses,” Makki murmured, then snorted. “Now you know what it feels like, you bastards.”

Hajime stayed in his seat, scrawling down a last note on his pad. His eyes flicked from the page and to the court. Futakuchi’s joy was palpable, the smile on his face so wide, Hajime wondered if his face would split. And that punch in the air, a gesture that appeared to be focused in one direction one – a ‘We fucking showed you!’ sign, greeted with a rasping cheer and then Kamasaki was silenced.

‘A Tale of Two Aces.’

Perhaps.

 The unbearable pain had hit Goshiki. Unable to stop the tears, he was scrubbing his cheeks fiercely with his shirt. Worse than last time, Hajime thought, remembering how the young future-ace had crumpled. Now he was supposed to carry the team, and he’d failed.

_It’s a team game. You’re one of six._   He could hear the words ringing loud in his ears, echoes from a former time. And after _they’d_ lost  (after _he’d_ failed) those words had sounded hollow because he’d known the pain, tasted failure and it had hit him raw and rancid, rotting away at his psyche.

‘You didn’t fail. It’s not your fault.’ And at that moment, he wondered if he were mouthing the words to Goshiki or reiterating that mantra to himself.

“I won’t be a minute,” he said, looking up to find the three of them standing there. 

“I’m ... uh ... going to head back,” Makki said. He smiled at Kinoshita, inclining his head. “Good to meet you. Maybe see you back at Spring High?”

“Yeah, I’m not chucking it in,” Kinoshita agreed. “Nice to meet you, too, Hanamaki-san.”

But Makki didn’t move off straight away, taking one step and then slowing. His eyes flicked to Matsukawa.

_Oh._

“Uh ... coffee, Kinoshita-kun?” Hajime asked, trying to be tactful. “We won’t get back in time for end of school.”

“Ah, I have practise,” he replied. “I need to get back.”

“Oh right. I’ll –”

About to say he’d skip coffee, returning to school with Kinoshita, he was interrupted by Mattsun.

“Noodles,” he said. “I fancy some. C’mon, Hajime. I’ll treat you.”

And Hanamaki, after a wave of his hand, continued up the steps, calling out a last goodbye as he merged into the crowd.

“Sure.”

 

It was a noodle bar near the stadium, not the one Oikawa had taken them all to after their last match, but something smaller. Kinoshita declined again despite Mattsun including him in the invitation, which left the two of them sitting at the bar, and slurping noodles on their chopsticks.

“How far d’you reckon Date Tech will go at Inter-Highs?” Hajime asked.

Shrugging, Mattsun ate some more chicken.

“D’you reckon they’re as good as Karasuno last year?” Hajime persisted. “Shiratorizawa weren’t the same without Ushiwaka and –”

“Is this for your article?” Mattsun interrupted, putting down his chopsticks.

“Possibly.” He sipped some water. “I didn’t think Datekou would win. ‘Specially not after that first set.” He dug into his bowl, picking up some of the tofu. “Their Setter’s still ropey.”

“They won.”

“Yeah, but he’s not a patch on Kageyama, or Yahaba come to think of it. The main thing he has going for him is height, and ... well, he didn’t rely on Futakuchi all the time. Shirabu seemed kind of lost, don’t you think, without Ushiwaka-chan?”

Mattsun blinked at him, and the set of his lips changed from straight to a curve upwards. “That’s the second time you’ve said that today?”

“Said what?”

“Ushiwaka- _chan_ ,” Mattsun mimicked, but not in Hajime’s voice, but a lighter tone, airier than the original and higher, a parody of a voice.

Fuck. “Yeah, well.”

“You called him yet?”

“Nope. You heard from him?”

“Nope.”  He chewed some more. “Not sure I’d tell you anyway.”

“Wow, thanks.”

The bar began to fill up, and the increased chatter caused the silence between them to not be as noticeable, as awkward. But it was still there, and Mattsun didn’t seem in any hurry to breach the gap between them.

 “Why not?” Hajime asked at last.

“Because _you_ need to sort this out. You miss him, then you call him. You want him back, you call him. You want to tell him to fuck off, then fucking call him!” He pushed his bowl away. “I’m pretty sick of being the go-between here.”

“I haven’t asked you to be!” Hajime protested. He shook his head, unsure just what was biting Matsukawa, who for all his sniping was slow to anger.  “He could call me.”

“Maybe he’s tried. But you’re the one who has a different number.”

“You don’t ... you don’t get it,” he mumbled.

“I don’t, huh? Look, he’s in Tokyo. It’s not the fucking other side of the world.”

“He’s got someone else. You said that!”

“I said his dad said he had a date. There’s a difference.”

“I saw –”  He closed his eyes, willing away the pictures of Oikawa standing so close to another guy, his hand on Tooru’s cheek.

“He’s your best mate. Or was. Fucking talk to him instead of brooding about it!” Mattsun snapped. “Unless the reason you’re doing this is because you want him out your life.”

“I don’t. It’s him. Why would you think that?”

“Because we’ve watched a match today, and apart from the one time that kid mentioned Oikawa and Ushiwaka, you were enjoying yourself. Sitting here, what you started talking about was the match and how you wanted to write about it.” He resumed eating, sucking in a stray noodle and a strip of pepper. “We’re moving on, Iwaizumi. All of us.”

He paid shortly after that, then with half an apology on his lips, Matsukawa got up saying he needed to get home. And Hajime supposed he could have got up that instant and followed him, but as Mattsun didn’t appear to be bothered, and had started moving to the door before Hajime had finished his drink, he let him go.

“Maybe catch a movie next week,” he offered as Mattsun reached the door.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

And he’d gone, leaving Hajime nonplussed at what exactly had happened.

He had time to kill now. No practise, no coaching, he didn’t have to pick the Chibis up, and the only thing demanding his attention was the article he’d promised to write for the paper. He supposed he could at least organise the notes he’d taken - it would be better with the photos - but he might as well sit and do something, rather than go home before he had to.

‘A Tale of Two Aces.’

There was something off with it. Was it that the title was cheesy? He shook his head. No, it was that it gave too much importance to that ‘revered’ position. In Ushiwaka’s case, it had been justified, but he remembered that other final, and how the team in black had clipped the eagle’s wings. 

_Old Powerhouse teams stuck in their ways,_ Oikawa had said, referring not just to Shiratorizawa but Seijou, too. Then he’d ruined his sagacity by declaring he wanted to see Ushiwaka-chan cry, before chivvying Hajime out of the stadium.

_Petty to the last,_ Hajime thought wryly. He’d dawdled on the way out, catching a glimpse of Sawamura lining his team up, and wishing, wishing, wishing that could have been Oikawa and him.

Shiratorizawa’s middle blocker had hesitated in the second set. Clearly another Tendou Satori would be hard to find anywhere, but in trying to emulate him, the player had left the court open for cross court shots. It was something he couldn’t imagine Mattsun doing. Calm when he played, collected even when the rest of them were fired up.

_What the fuck was wrong with him today?_

He stabbed at his notebook with his pen, mind flitting away from his friend and back to the game. The Datekou Wall – he wondered if he could have powered through that now. Maybe not, but he’d have tried for a weakness, despite the height discrepancy. No one was unbeatable. Every wall could crumble, or ... He smiled to himself, remembering a shot of Kunimi’s in a practise match, where he’d come up against Matsukawa, and tipped the ball up, just glancing his finger.

_Shrewd._

As unlike Kyoutani as you could get, but then, no team was a cookie-cutter. And comparing Aces was never worthwhile.

He went to cross out his title, then stared at his page. Because, while he’d been musing on the game, his pen had had other ideas, doodling a court, a ball and ...

“Fuck me, that’s a whole play,” he muttered, and half-smiled at the stick figure he realised represented him, springs in his shoes as he leapt. “We’d have taken them.”

He pulled out his phone, realising belatedly, that he had some messages to send.

The first to Misa **[Do we need to talk?]**

One to Mattsun. **[Thanks for the ramen. Next time I’ll buy. Sorry if I was rattling on]**

The last  he sighed over, but he should have been contacted yesterday. **[Hey, Yahaba-kun. You played well. You all did. Sometimes shit happens – as we all know – but Spring High, you’re going to be extra strong!]**

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

**_[You weren’t]_** Mattsun had replied. **_[Sorry, just wasn’t in the mood for company.]_**

Then Misa. **_[I’m going to practise. Take it you won’t be there.]_**

**[Not tonight. Still in Sendai]**

**_[Ah, cool.]_ **

**_[Will you be back?]_** she added after a while.

Dammit, he didn’t want to do this by text, but she knew. They all knew and he’d promised nothing but to coach them for Inter-Highs.

**[Till the end of this term, yes.]** he texted.

**_[Good.]_ **

**[And you?]**

**_[Not sure. Parents are on my case.]_ **

Then his phone rang, the old ring tone blaring out in the cafe.

“Hey,” Misa said, her voice a little breathy. “Sorry, are you able to talk?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Just ... I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave them in the lurch, especially as you’re not coming back and – ” He heard her gulping. “Sorry, that’s rude. We knew it was a one- term deal, and I’m really grateful to you, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Do you want to stay?”

“Honestly? I’m torn. I want to _play_ , but the thought of having to combine that with coaching. It got to me, you know. I could hear myself yelling at the first years – three didn’t return – and I knew I should be encouraging them, but ...”

She sniffed, and Hajime thanked whatever deity there was that this was being done over the phone and he didn’t have to talk face to face and deal with her tears.

“What are the others doing?” he asked instead.

“Aimi’s not sure; she’s not college prep but says she needs to look at other credits. I should think about the future. It’s the sensible solution.”

“It is, yeah,” he muttered.

“It’s only recently that I’ve started enjoying it, you know. And I finally feel we have a team coming together, and I ... I ... I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“You don’t have to.”  He finished his water, letting the silence drip down the phone to her. And he could hear her breaths begin to steady. “But, it could also be that if you leave now, then you’re giving the second years a longer run in.”

“I know.” She sounded glum. “But we have so few players.”

“Misa-kun,” he murmured. “Your priority has to be yourself and your future.”

“Now you sound like my sensei.” He heard a deep sigh, but instead of sobs, Misa sounded more positive when she spoke again. “I could stay and pray we get knocked out in the qualifiers.” Then she snorted. “I doubt I’d even have to pray that hard.”

“Hey, you played well. We were unlucky to come up against Queens, that’s all.”

“You saying we’re getting to Spring High,” she laughed.

“I’m saying with practise and more commitment, then there’s no reason why you can’t get through the first rounds.” He took a breath. “But this would mean sacrificing your summer, and finding a coach, _and_ trying to recruit more players.”

“How do we do that?”

“Several left. Why don’t you try getting them back?”

“Yeah ... I guess.” A pause. “We’d have more chance if you were staying on,” she said, sounding sly.

“Misa ... I ...”

“Just hang around the gym for a bit, will you. Maybe flex those muscles. That will bring them in.”

“Sure.”

She giggled. “I can feel that scowl, Iwaizumi-san. Anyway, thank you.”

“For what?”

“I feel a better now.”

“Made a decision?”

“Nope. But I have more of an idea.” She huffed out a breath, and Hajime could tell she was smiling. “I better go. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

***

 

It was when he’d wended his way home that Yahaba replied. A short text, but telling, thanking Hajime for coming to watch, and promising they’d do better.

**_[We’ll make you proud, Iwaizumi-san.]_ **

**[I know.]** He sniffed, glad Yahaba couldn’t see him. [ **Say hi to the others for me, will you?]**

**_[Sure]_ **

**[And tell Mad-Dog ]** He paused. Kyoutani would see through platitudes, might even give him the impetus to quit again. **[To work at his serves. He can jump higher.]**

**_[I will.]_ **

**[And get Kunimi to work on his feints.]**

**_[That’s what Oikawa-san said.]_ **

**[He did?]**

**_[He said subtlety’s the way to get past a combative wall.]_ **

**[He has a point]** Hajime smiled ruefully. **[Blasting through it’s satisfying though.]**

**_[Kentarou would agree.]_ **

_Kentarou now?_

**[I’ll try and get to Spring High, okay?]**

**_[Thank you, Iwaizumi-senpai. Oh, and is this your new number?]_ **

**[For now.]**

Yahaba asked no more, and Hajime put the phone back in his bag as he let himself through the front door. His brothers were bickering, nothing too aggressive, but it was clear they were getting on with homework, and the smell of chicken wafted towards him.

“I’m back!” he called out.

“Dinner will be in about half an hour,” his mum replied from the kitchen.

“Ah...” He crept up to the door. “Uhm ...”

“You’ve eaten?” she guessed, a touch impatiently.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“It’ll keep,” she replied, dismissing his apology with a flick of her wrist. “Tell me next time, will you?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s magma!” Koji declared.

“No, it’s lava!” Saburo countered.

“Molten rock is magma.”

“Lava is molten rock, too.”

“Boys, look it up if you can’t agree,” his mum said, a little snappish.

Walking to the kitchen table, Hajime peered over his brothers’ shoulders, watching as they completed their geography homework. “What’s up?”

“Sab says this is lava,” Koji replied, pointing to a trench he was colouring orange.

“It is! Lava is molten rock.”

“ _So_ is magma,” Koji retorted. “And this is underground, so it’s magma.”

“It’s all lava, isn’t it, Niisan?”

“Uh...” Hajime blinked. “Nah, I think Koji’s right. It’s magma when it’s underground and lava when it’s above ground.”

“Oh.” Saburo scowled, reached for the eraser and rubbed out his label. “Who won the match?”

“Datekou.”

“They’re the ones with the wall, right?” Saburo asked.

“Yup.”

“Did they beat Seijou?” Koji asked, his face glum.

“In the semis, yeah. But the guys’ll be back.” He ruffled Koji’s hair. “When you’re there, you can lead them to victory.”

“What about me?” Saburo demanded.

“Score the winning spike.”

He could see his mum exasperated as she looked across, so stepped away. “I should write this report while it’s still fresh in my head.”

“Hajime?” his mum called as he got to the door.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Koji’s hospital appointment.”

“Mmm?”

“It’s at the start of the summer break, but it clashes with my next ante-natal one, and your dad can’t change his shift.”

“Yeah, no problem. What date?”

“July nineteenth.”

He shrugged. “S’fine. I’ve got nothing planned.”

“I’ll be able to play again,” Koji said happily and flexed his fingers. “And Tooru- nii will be back, so he can coach me.”

He wasn’t aware he’d reacted, but Hajime found three pairs of eyes on him, and that he’d stepped back against the wall.

“Hajime?” his mum queried.

“Uh... sorry. I was thinking of something.”

“When is Tooru-kun coming home?” she asked.

“He’s ... uh ...,” he muttered, then cleared his throat, remembering something Kinoshita had told him. “There’s a collegiate tournament coming up. So if he’s picked for that, then he’ll be with his team.”

“Ooohhh,” Saburo and Koji groaned, both moping.

“Sorry I’m not good enough,” he half snapped, then grimaced. “I’m gonna get on with this article.”

 He sat on his bed, laptop on his knees and opened up a doc. Expecting to stare at it and not get anything done, he was surprised when after a few mistyped sentences, he managed to hit a vein and the description of the game began to flow into words. Without Kinoshita’s pictures, he’d thought he’d struggle, but snapshots came back to him: Aone steadfast in the wall, Koganegawa enthusiastic at first, drooping when they lost a set then bucking up when Futakuchi roared them on. Goshiki’s flashes of brilliance, Kawanishi stalwart in his blocks, and Shirabu stolid.

‘Generic, but _veeeery_ interesting,’ Tooru had once said when they’d been watching a DVD of Shiratorizawa and Shirabu’s first game as a starter, and narrowed his eyes. “I know _why_ they’ve picked him because his style is so in sync with Ushiwaka-chan’s, but –” He’d tilted his head to one side, pressed pause then replayed the toss. “There’s nothing individual about him except ...” He’d smirked as Shirabu had stomped off for a time out. “That flash of temper.”

_The bugger was going to be cutting this down,_ he thought a while later as he stretched. But on the whole, he was satisfied, and any final edits could be managed by Yachi.

He yawned. Although still early, he was knackered. The day had been long, concentration levels high, and his eyes were beginning to hurt from staring at the screen. Getting to his feet, he prowled the room as he pondered Mattsun’s bad mood.

_Maybe I should call him._ But he’d only get nagged about Oikawa and he wasn’t sure he wanted to listen – however right Mattsun might be.

And Makki had been odd, too, skipping off early.

But it had been an odd sort of day all round, Datekou had seen to that.

He closed his eyes, and just for a moment, he envisaged himself leaping into the air, palm dead centre on the ball and powering past Aone’s hand.

_What wouldn’t I give for another chance?_

_Then play._ Another voice insisted. _You know you could._

But just as insistent was the tapping on the door, and then his mum walked in, a cup of tea in her hand. “All good?” she said brightly.

“Yeah.” He stifled another yawn. “Long day, that’s all.”

“And the article?”

“Nearly done.”

She smiled, a little tight-lipped. And he could tell she was trying to be calm, but there was something burning at her, that she wanted to bring up. Her hand drifted to her hair, smoothing a lock back behind her ear. “Is Tooru-chan really staying in Tokyo?”

“Uh-huh. College tournament,” he said, and made sure he was looking her directly in the eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“You could go and visit if you wanted.” She was twirling the lock now, winding it around her finger, then releasing to leave a waving curl before starting the process again. “We can afford a coach journey.”

“He’s probably busy, but thanks.”

“Hajime.”

“Yeah.”

And then she huffed out a breath and flopped onto the edge of his bed. “I know you miss him, and I’m sorry.”

“Mum, it’s fine.”

“But I think I pushed you into retaking, rather than looking around for a different course.”

“I’m okay,” he replied. “Really. I...” He smiled. “I like Karasuno, you know. It’s not the same as Seijou. I mean, it’s bigger and rougher round the edges, but the teachers are good, and I’ve settled in.” He flapped his hand at his laptop. “And I’ve found something else I like doing, so it’s all good.”

“It’s without Tooru, though. And you’ve been friends for so long, doing everything together.” She sniffed. “The boys miss him, too. They hoped he’d be back for their birthday.”

“Mum, I can’t order him to return to Miyagi,” he said, adding a laugh. “They’ll just have to put up with me.”

She didn’t move from the bed, and the hand which had been resting on her knee, began to pluck at her shirt. “Do you remember when the twins were born?”

“Yeah, I was eight years old, not eight months.”

“Tooru was fascinated,” she continued, brushing over his sarcasm. “I remember him coming over to play, and you’d both sat down to watch a film when he disappeared.”

Hajime shrugged, wondering where she was going with this.

“I found him in our bedroom. He was standing there just watching them. His eyes flicked from one to the other, and he stretched out his hand, but just as quickly snatched it back.” She mimed the action, the memory lighting up her face. “Then he saw me and backed away, murmuring an apology. But there was a smile as he stared up at me, and do you know what he said?”

He wasn’t sure an answer was required, but Hajime shook his head anyway.

“’Do you think they have the same dreams?’ That’s what he asked.”

_Huh?_

“I mean, to Tooru they looked identical, and a lot of people thought they were. It’s only as they got older, that they began to look different.”

She swallowed, and smoothed down her shirt, her hand drifting to her belly. “And I replied that I didn’t know, but their dreams appeared to be very happy and maybe that was because he was watching over them. I took his hand, explaining that they needed to sleep and that I’d bought milk pan for him.” She sniffled. “He smiled again – such a beautiful smile that boy had – and then as we left, he looked back and said ‘It’s very good that they’ll always have each other.”

A yell from downstairs rent the air.

“Maybe not such a good thing,” Hajime snorted, hearing Saburo demand the brown pencil.

She ignored him, instead reaching out and grabbing Hajime’s arm. “And he said the pair of you would always have each other. I tried not to laugh because it sounded absurd. I mean, you’d been friends for barely four months, but he was already declaring you ‘best friends forever’.”

“He was eight. Kids say dumb things.”

She wasn’t listening, carrying on with the recollections. “Hoshiyo-kun adored the babies. And, Oikawa-san was very good to us. She kept you occupied. You were always welcome there, and that was important back then.”

Scratching the back of his head, Hajime joined her on the bed. “Mum, is there a reason for this?”

“I’ve been thinking about the last few months. So much has happened this year. The baby, your results, your graduation, the move, and ... I think I was rather unfair on Tooru and his mother. They’re good people, and –”

“It’s okay.”

Her voice husked. “If I’ve caused this ‘split’ between you and Tooru, then I am so sorry. I thought maybe apart you’d flourish more, or at least be able to concentrate.”

“I’m not unhappy, Mum,” he insisted. “And it’s just this year. Buckle down, get my results, and then get to Tokyo. That’s the plan.”

“You miss volleyball, though, don’t you?”

No, he wanted to say, hoping the denial would reassure her, but the word stuck in his craw.

He whistled out a breath. “Yeah, but it’s too distracting. I can’t study and play, ‘specially not for a new team. I’d have to work that much harder to fit in. It wouldn’t be like Seijou. Oikawa and I had played together so long that it was –”

_Perfect trust._

“Easy for us to be in sync,” he finished lamely.

“Hum. Okay.” She got to her feet, giving his arm another squeeze. “But if you find some guys to play with. I don’t know, maybe Issei-kun will join you, then I’m not going to object to one or two evenings a week to keep you happy.”

 

***

Hajime read through the Karasuno newspaper, pronouncing himself happy with the finished articles. Yachi and the editorial team had splashed his final report on the back page, and, along with Kinoshita’s photograph of Futakuchi punching the air, it looked slick. He grinned as he rolled up the paper, sticking it in the back of his kitbag.

“Ha!” Oshiro punched him on the arm. “When you’re a big-name journo, will you still hang out with us, Iwaizumi-sama?”

“I’ll only speak to you when you’re picked for Japan, got it?” he replied, and grinned at all of them. “Good practise, and it’s great you’re still enthusiastic.”

“Be more enthusiastic if you stayed,” Oshiro said, and pulled a face. “Nah, I get it. You can’t keep doing this for us.”

He sighed, and sat back on the floor. The girls joined him, and he was grateful they were all there. The only one missing was Misa.

“I’m not sure where else I could take you, to be honest. I’m not much of a coach.”

“You’re the best,” Sugawara cried out, and then rubbed her nose.

“I’ll drop in every now and then, I promise. And when you’ve decided who the next captain’s gonna be, then –“”

“Next captain?” Aimi tilted her head to one side. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you can’t have not noticed that Misa-san isn’t here,” he said, staring at her. “It’s an important year for her, and she can’t very well –”

The voice assailed him before he could finish.

“Sorry I’m late!” Misa called out, standing in the doorway.

“Late? It’s over,” he said and laughed. “Needn’t think I’m treating you to pork buns, you slacker!”

“Yes, I know, but I had to meet someone and ... uh ...” She stepped inside, flashing them all a smile. “As Iwaizumi-san is _deserting_ us –”

“Oi!”

“I’ve decided that we need to go on a recruitment drive. And I want to stay on, but I can’t if I have to coach as well, so the first thing I decided to find us is a new coach. This person not only knows a lot about volleyball, but has already been watching us. ” She giggled, then gestured to the door with her hand. “Ta-da!”

“If this is Matsukawa, I’m walking out now,” Hajime retorted. “And he can buy the pork buns.”

“Hmm, and there was me thinking he was a decent guy,” said the newcomer, who wasn’t really a newcomer at all. Running a hand though short dark hair, the girl smiled and half bowed to them all. “Hi, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Michimiya Yui, former captain of Karasuno, and I’d like to be your coach for the rest of the year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's stuck with this story. I promise the end is in sight!


	31. The Beauty and the Cruelty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tooru finally learns the truth (well, part of it) and yet still manages to upset someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to add a disclaimer here that I also want to shake some sense into Tooru, and Hajime for that matter.

It was, Tooru thought, probably a good job that he and Suga had decamped to the kitchen when Sawamura returned. His immediate yell of ‘Suga’ when he walked through the door and then stopping in the doorway, his smile creasing into a glower when he saw their guest, spoke volumes as to his opinion of Tooru.

“Didn’t think you were coming back before practise,” Suga said.

“I wanted to drop this off,” Sawamura muttered, putting down his laptop case and bag. “How are you feeling?”

He wasn’t looking at Tooru, his question was only for Suga.

“With every nerve ending,” Suga joked before relenting. “I’m fine, but Oikawa’s laptop’s broken. It went for a swim and as he has an essay to hand in on Thursday, I said I’d help.”

“Sure,” Sawamura said, tight-lipped. “Want a drink?”

“I’ll make it,” Suga said, wincing as he got up from his chair.

“Nope. Sit down, or better still go and lie down. You should be resting.”

“I’m better sitting up,” Suga said, keeping his voice light, but he sat back down. “Coffee then, please. Tooru?”

“Water’s fine for me,” he replied, picking up his glass to take a sip.

Kuroo wandered in, attempted to fist-bump Sawamura then seeing his bootfaced expression thought better of it. “Bo’s crashed out. Guy’s been yawning since he got here.”

“We were on our way to mine so he could sleep, but then _this_ happened,” Tooru replied.

“Which was what?” Sawamura asked, his voice very soft.

Recognising Sawamura’s question as less a polite query and more of an interrogation, Tooru slotted a plaintive note into his reply. “It slid off my shoulder and into the fountain in the forecourt.” For good measure, he rolled his eyes. “I’m such a klutz.”

Sawamura’s eyes narrowed, and he ran his tongue over his teeth. “Tough break,” he replied – still wooden. “Can you save any of it?”

“Kenma’s gonna try,” Kuroo said. “But he needs a free weekend.”

“And I’ll probably still have to buy a new laptop,” Tooru added, and wondered if he was covered under insurance (probably not) and how he’d afford one if not because he could hardly ask his dad now.

“Which doesn’t help your essay,” Suga put in, and tapped Tooru on the arm. “Let’s get on with this.”

There was silence as Sawamura made the drinks. Kuroo leant on the counter, his eyes flicking over them all.

“Someone should wake Bokuto in good time for practise,” Suga said. He looked up at Sawamura. “And you should go along tonight.”

“I’ll give it a miss,” he replied as he placed Suga’s coffee on the table.

“Daichi, I’m fine.”

“I have reading to do. It’s not a big deal.”

“You have a sports scholarship here, and that _is_ a big deal,” Suga said gently and reaching across, he linked his fingers into Sawamura’s. “You can’t afford to skip.”

Tooru blinked and tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the laptop.

“You could come with us?” Sawamura suggested

“Hum, I’ll only be in the way.  And all the questions.” He mock shivered. “Go without me.”

“You sure?” Sawamura squeezed him back.

“Bring me back some noodles – extra spicy.”

Laughing Sawamura relinquished him. “Sure thing. I’m going to get changed.”

Suga watched him go, his eyes lingering as he sipped at his coffee. “Make sure he stays, will you, Kuroo? He keeps coming back to check on me, and I’m sure he missed a tutorial this morning.”

“He’s concerned.”

“I know, but I’m okay,” Suga said and heaved out a sigh. “And one of you should wake Bokuto, you know what he’s like when he just wakes up. Takes an age to get him moving.”

 

It was little over half an hour later when they left for practise. Bokuto, contrary to Suga’s words, bounded along the street looking as eager as a puppy on its first walk. Oikawa kept pace with him, aware that behind them Kuroo was chatting to a largely silent Sawamura.

“Konoha texted me earlier. Said they’ve picked their teams already.” Bokuto puffed out his cheeks and turned around, leaping up to clap his hand on the top of a wall.

“And?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” replied Bokuto. “Reckon he’s just winding me up. ‘Sides, I just wanna play.”

“You’d like to beat them, though? Beat Ushiwaka-chan?”

“’Course. Like what’s the point of playing, if you don’t want to win.” He leapt up again, powering an imaginary ball into the road. “Not just one person, is it?”

“No... but ...”

“Maybe Kuroo was right,” Bokuto continued. “Like, Ushiwaka didn’t get to Nationals last time.”

“Do not underestimate him,” Tooru warned. “This will be his first chance to prove himself since losing.”

Bokuto grinned and mimed another shot. “Some of us are still on that high.”

“Ahh, the confidence of youth!” Kuroo called after him.

“I’m older than you,” Bokuto yelled back, and lifting his face to the sky, he sped on.  “Race ya to the bus stop!”

“Something about that boy,” Kuroo sighed with a lazy grin, “makes me feel like a kid again. Where does he get that enthusiasm?”

“You can join him,” Sawamura replied after a step.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to keep Oikawa and me apart, is what I’m saying,” he replied.

“I think that’s the cue for us to have a clear the air talk, Kuroo-chan,” Tooru murmured. “We don’t need a referee.”

Kuroo blinked, then hoisting his kit bag higher on his shoulder, he increased his speed, not quite catching Bokuto, but putting space between them.

“Suga says I need to apologise,” Sawamura began.

“You don’t have to.”

Slowing his pace, Sawamura stopped on the corner, waiting for the lights to change. “I’m fully aware that your prompt action stopped him getting hurt even more,” he began, his speech sounding lawyerlier that Tooru thought possible and clearly rehearsed. “And I didn’t thank you for that.” He took a breath. “I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

“You ... it’s nothing. I should have hit them earlier. Or got us out of there, or not wound them up in the first –”

Daichi removed his hands from his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest, and stared. “You knew them, didn’t you? It wasn’t a random attack.”

Damn! He was good. Tooru should have picked up that this was another interrogation from his officious language.

“Sawamura –”

There was a pause in the traffic, but Sawamura didn’t attempt to walk over the road.

“Suga thinks I’m going in all guns blazing once I have proof,” Sawamura replied. “I’m not that stupid. I will leave it to the police.”

 “No one thinks you’re stupid.”

Sawamura sniffed, then without warning walked across the road, his eyes firmly facing in front and towards the bus. Tooru followed his gaze, noticing Kuroo had caught Bokuto and both were now lounging up against the shelter.

“I grabbed a coffee today,” Sawamura said when Tooru had caught up.

“Pardon?”

“I was in the cafeteria and thought I saw you. I was going to speak to you, but when I turned round, you’d gone,” he replied. “Then I went off to a tutorial. Funny thing, though...”

“What was funny?”

“On my way there, I saw that prat from Bokuto’s hall. Kato, isn’t it?”

“Wh-What about him?”

“He was soaking wet. Even his shoes. It was like he’d fallen into the fountain – bit like your laptop.” He let out a small scoff of a laugh. “You going to tell me that’s a coincidence?”

“I’m sure he’s not the first person to fall in,” Tooru replied evenly.  “We should speed up, the bus is coming.”

“I meant what I said,” Sawamura said, raising his voice as Tooru walked ahead. “I’m not about to start a fight.”

“Then what good will it do having proof, Sawamura,” replied Tooru, glancing over his shoulder.

Sawamura was standing there, his palms raised as if in supplication and his shoulders hunched up to his chin. And he was far from the imposing captain Tooru had faced all those months ago. There was none of the confidence or focus, but an air of angry bewilderment.

“I’m going back,” he called out, rubbing one hand through his hair. “Tell the coach I’m ill.”

“No you’re not!” Kuroo sprinted from the stop, past Oikawa and linked his arm into Sawamura’s. “He’s happy for you to be here, so don’t do anything to ruin that.”

Sawamura tried to shrug him off, but Kuroo held on firm, steering him to the stop. “Trust him,” Tooru heard him mutter.

It was an odd journey. Either he was covering up, or oblivious, but Bokuto did most of the talking, not caring when he elicited no response from Sawamura. And under normal circumstances, his very joie de vivre would have infected them all, but they were a lacklustre quartet getting off the bus, even Bokuto’s mood dampening.

So it was good to be greeted by a scowling Yaku, who hurried into the changing room, annoyed with the world, and crashing his kitbag on the floor. Caught up in his irritation with a new pair of trainers that he’d not had time to break in, Yaku missed the tension between them all, and his obvious bad mood eased the frayed nerves of the others, especially as Kuroo couldn’t stop smirking, which made Yaku’s temper even more explosive.

And Tooru wasn’t sure if it was because he felt muted by the drama of the day and wanted to make a mark but practice was good. His fingers tingling, he placed toss after toss in the paths of the Wing Spikers. Stretching in one case to aim to the far side of the net so Bokuto could evade the Blockers. And if they missed the odd toss, it didn’t matter, because he was tireless today. On another court, another three-on-three, he spied Sawamura advancing to the net and powering down a spike, venting his anger on the ball and the court – the reverberations so loud that everyone stopped.

“You’re getting stronger, Sawamura-kun,” a third year called out. “Thought you were more of a defence expert.”

“Sometimes you have to get in a hard attack,” Sawamura retorted, losing his usual deference, “it’s the best way to defend.”

***

With the news that the teams would be picked the following week, Tooru left practice knowing he was in the running. Tokyo had a solid squad; it pulled in a range of players, and had a steady reputation through the country. And although he was at the bottom rung, competing with guys who were two or three years older – men rather than boys – Tooru also knew that he was strong. He’d honed skills in his third year at Seijou by setting for Sendai students. Continually practising not just with his own team, but others – good, bad, old and young – endeavouring to give the perfect toss, to draw out the spiker’s ability one hundred percent.

Sawamura was on his phone as soon as he’d left the gym. Pulling off his shirt one-handed, he paused mid-undress, waiting for Suga (Tooru presumed) to pick up.

“Yep. It went well,” he rapped. “How are you?”

...

“Good. I’ll be back with your noodles.”

...

“See you then.”

...

“Yeah, me too.”

He had a soft smile on his face, one that looked as if he were about to chuckle, and Tooru was not the only one who noticed. Two of the second years began to snort, kissing their hands and giggling in a falsetto.

“She’s got you well-trained then already,” one of them said, as a chorus of whip cracks rent the air.

“Huh?” Sawamura looked up.

“Your girlfriend? The one you’re taking noodles home for.”

“Oh.” Reaching for his clean shirt, shoving the sweaty one into his kitbag, Sawamura stared at his phone for a second longer, then lifted his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend. That was Suga.”

“Sugawara, huh?” One of the third years interrupted. “You guys are ... uh ... close, right?”

“Yup, we are.” Sawamura took in the changing room, as everyone appeared to slow. “Very.”

“This is the third session he’s missed. Is he finding it too tough?”

Sawamura dragged his teeth over his lower lip, clearly thinking what to say. And for a moment, Tooru thought he was just going to shrug, step back and leave, but he clearly thought better of it.  “He was beaten up three days ago and had to go to hospital.”

“Beaten up?” The first team captain, Nakajima, stopped what he was doing and took a step closer. “Why?”

“Existing. For being who he is,” Sawamura replied. He finished putting his shirt on. “Anyway, I should get back. He’ll kick my ass black and blue if I don’t bring him noodles.”

“Sawamura!” Nakajima caught his arm. He was tall, easily a head taller than Sawamura, a dominant presence on court,  but there was nothing menacing about him now.

“I need to leave,” Sawamura said quietly.

“We’re not just a club, but a team,” Nakajima said. “If someone’s targeting any of us, for _whatever_ reason, we’ve got their backs, okay?” He smiled. “Tell Sugawara there’s no hurry for him to come back. I think we all kinda miss his sass though, so if he wants to come along and watch then he’s honestly welcome.”

And Sawamura swallowed. He gripped Nakajima’s arm, and mouthed a thank you as if the words were stuck, too choked to emerge from his lips.

***

With Sawamura speeding on ahead, the four of them meandered towards the bus stop. Bokuto was yawning, the circles under his eyes even more noticeable under the neon lights adorning store fronts and takeaways.  The bus gods looked kindly on them, sending one within a minute of their arrival, and one with plenty of seats to accommodate them all.

“How’s the essay?” Yaku asked, easing into the seat next to Tooru.

Tooru grimaced, quickly filling him in on the day’s events.

“Whoa, where’s your luck! Oikawa, you _have_ to ask for more time now. You were pushing it as it was, but losing all your work is going to make it much too hard to get a decent mark.”

“No.”

“Oikawa, come on, don’t be so stubborn. Talk to the sensei, he’s not unreasonable.”

“I can handle this. I’d already written most of it in two days, so I have plenty of time.”

“You had your laptop and notes, though,” Yaku argued.

Tooru tapped his head. “It’s all up here, and I’m very good at all-nighters.” He glanced at Bokuto, whose eyes were drooping. “This is my stop. Come on, Bokkun, you can sleep at mine tonight.”

“You’re a pal,” Bokuto said, or tried to, but his mouth was stretching round another yawn. He clapped Kuroo on the back. “See ya tomorrow, guys.”

 

Fresh air hit Tooru, but not enough to fully enliven his mind, so reaching for the kettle, he made a cup of strong coffee, winced at the sight of it and then flooded it with cream and sugar to negate the caffeine overload. Bokuto had slumped on the sofa, not even bothering with the television.

“I’m going to use the PC,” Tooru said, heading towards the second bedroom. “I can get you a blanket and you either sleep in here, or you can crash in my room.”

“I’m too wired thinkin’ ‘bout that practise,” Bokuto complained. “Sorta went well, don’t ya think?”

“Mmm,” Tooru called back. He powered up the PC, waiting for it to flicker into life before gathering up a spare duvet.

“My serves were shit. Lost some of the rotation towards the end. Might ... do ... more tomorrow. We could hit the gym first thing.”

“Don’t go over it too much in your head,” Tooru cautioned from the spare room. “You need sleep.”

“Nah, I’m awake now. Think I’ll watch TV, if that’s all right.”

“Fine with me.”

But when he checked Bokuto a short while later, he was sprawled on the futon, dead to the world. Tooru giggled and gently tucked a blanket around him. “Sleep well, Ace. And may flights of Setters sing you to your rest.”

Back in the bedroom, the computer’s screensaver had appeared. It was an old PC, one his dad hadn’t got around to replacing, telling Tooru that as it still worked there was no point in spending more.  A picture flashed in front of him, at once making Tooru gasp with surprise, followed by sadness. A photo from years before, of Tooru and Hoshiyo, their dad in the middle, arms around them both.

_That’s England,_ Tooru thought, the vague recollection of the garden they’d had when he was five imprinting on his mind. Hoshiyo was laughing, her teenage angst and sulkiness forgotten on that sunshine day.

But now was not the time to reflect on what had been, or what could have been. Now he had to get on with his essay. Taking a slug of his coffee, and wincing as the bitter taste permeated the cream, Tooru scowled at the picture before opening up a document.

“Psychology Paper, take 2, by Oikawa Tooru, ably assisted by Kou-chan’s notes, my dynamic memory and a lot of bluff.” He gave a low manic laugh, rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers. “Bring it on!”

 It was four when he submitted to defeat, or rather a tactical withdrawal. The typos on the screen were mounting up leaving a swath of red squiggly lines under words he could barely begin to work out. With drooping eyelids, he tried to carry on, but he was battling the twin gods of Sleep and Error and both were enveloping him.  He’d made a good start. Notes were in order; he’d planned the majority of his points. Somewhere he had a list of sources to cite, and links to websites to check , but he could get to that tomorrow. And then he could type it up, but that could be done a little at a time. He had three more days. He screwed up his eyes. Make that two more.

_Or one more if I want to be really petty and hand it in early?_ He snorted, knowing now what his aim was. _Okay, couple of hours sleep and then I’m getting back to it. Bokuto will have to run by himself._

But of course, once he was in bed, all thoughts of sleep left him. He closed his eyes, sank deep into his pillow, and practised breathing deep, but without the essay to distract him, the day began to unravel in his mind. The greyness of dawn, lightening minute-by-minute only imprinted the darkness further. Like a tattoo, Kato’s words dug under his skin.

“ _What d’you think would happen if you broke your arm?”_

He hugged his arms across chest, twisted his face to find a cool patch on his pillow, and squeezed his eyes tighter shut.

Kato’s face leered at him, his eyeballs a glistening, ghostly white, his irises lit with malevolence.

_He’s not here._

There’d been a scent on his clothes, sweetly acrid, the memory of it so palpable that Tooru – startled – opened his eyes. He was in Tokyo, so why was he suddenly thinking about London?

More words were returning to him from the confrontation, images of Kato, his voice thick and ugly.

It was getting hard to distinguish fact from fantasy now, the fall into the fountain had slowed, and Tooru fancied he could see the droplets of water on his skin.

_Was that before or after he’d threatened me?_

He’d hit the water, plunging underneath, screaming to breathe, but unable to surface as the –

Gritting his teeth, Tooru shifted onto his front and turned away from the dawn light. Sleep would come, if only he’d relax.

Hold on. Fujita-san grabbed me. It was Kato who fell in.

_You prat. Over active imagination, Assikawa._

“He did threaten me, Iwa-chan.”

_Not the first time that’s happened._

But it had been the first time Hajime hadn’t been there to bail him out.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, he fetched a glass of water. From the kitchen, he could hear Bokuto’s soft, snuffling snores. Tooru breathed in, letting the morning wash over him.

The scent came back to him, familiar and yet he couldn’t place it. It was there nagging at him, but he knew the more he probed the deeper it would lodge itself in his psyche.

 

***

“How is it going?”

Tooru stifled a yawn and leant back on the chair, spinning it away from the PC. “Not bad, thank you, Kou-chan,” he said into his phone. “And how are you this morning?”

“Lot better. The bruises are very yellow now, and I managed to laugh at one of Daichi’s jokes without feeling as if a knife were stuck in my ribs.”

“But his jokes aren’t very good, so you could be _badly_ hurt.”

“Ha – I’m an excellent actor so they got a good workout.”

“Are you going back into college?”

“No. I still look like shit, and I’ve been signed off, so I might as well make the most of it.”

“And practice? Nakajima said you were welcome to sit on the sides.” Tooru sipped his tea. “Think you’ve made an impression on him.”

Suga was silent.

“Koushi?”

“Can you stop calling me that?”

Oh ... okay.

“You all right?”

Suga groaned. “Sorry. I’m just a little annoyed that I’ve suddenly become the poster boy for gay pride.”

“Pardon?”

“Daichi told me he’d let them know, and I was fine with that, honestly, because I’d hate them to think I was skiving, but of course he left off the part where Nakajima-san has the whole squad rallying round.”

“Um, it wasn’t quite –”

“Oh forget it. How’s the essay?”

“Fine, except I had a page of suggested websites and sources and I can’t find it.”

“Ah, it’s here. Sorry, Kuroo used it as a coffee coaster this morning, but it’s still legible.”

“Great.” Tooru bit back a yawn. “Can I come and get it?”

“I’ll come to you.” He sounded short.

“Really? You mustn’t put yourself out.”

“No, I need the air.  Or rather the fumes. I think I’m becoming addicted to them. Never thought I’d say that.”

He was rattling on, endearing in a way, so Tooru let him continue.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“Yep, setting off now.”

“I could come and pick you up if you don’t feel like walking.”

“Tooru, stop. Daichi’s wrapping me in cotton wool, Kuroo jumps up to get the door every time the door goes, and Morisuke’s been sickeningly tidy since it happened. I’m being killed by kindness here.”

Laughing, Tooru leant back against the sink. “Well, I’m never kind, and just so you know it, I’m going to break the lift to ensure you have to take the stairs.”

“You’re a true pal!” Suga replied, chuckling. “See you soon.”

 

***

Suga appeared wearing dark glasses and carrying a plastic bag rather than his usual backpack. The bruising, as he’d said, was now far more yellow than anything else, but the swelling was visible, and he removed the glasses as soon as he came inside, gingerly touching the bridge of his nose.

“First things first, the police haven’t been in touch, so I still don’t know what’s going on.” He huffed out a breath. “Needed to get that out of the way!”

“Want a drink?” Tooru asked, changing the subject.

“Hum, wouldn’t you rather be left alone?” Suga replied. He peered up at him. “You look like crap.”

“No sleep,” he explained. “And I think I’ve powered through the sleep barrier now. Go in the lounge. It’s moderately tidy, despite Bokkun staying over.”

“Oh, that’s good of you. Not sure he can take much more of halls.”

 “It’s not a problem,” Tooru replied, feeling magnanimous. “He even made me tea this morning, and tried to make breakfast.”

Suga snorted. “He does that at ours. It always ends up with Kuroo yelling at him to shut up, Morisuke storming out of his room to yell at them both, and Daichi and me sneaking out for coffee.” He sat down, wincing a little, and leant right back into the futon. “You don’t have any paracetemol, do you?”

“Headache?”

“Mmm, Doctor said it was normal, and that I might feel a bit fuzzy for a while.”

Saying nothing, Tooru fetched painkillers and two large glasses of iced lemonade, setting them on the table.

“Do you remember much about the attack?”

“Yes.” Suga opened one eye. “I’m not suffering memory loss; I’m just a bit ditzier than usual.” His phone beeped, he groaned and shoved it back into his pocket. “That’s all I need.”

“Sawa-chan checking up on you?” Tooru mocked, albeit gently.

“ _Much_ worse. It’s Mum.  They’ve seen the medical bill. I told her it was volleyball related, but I’m not sure she believes me.  Anyway, she’s threatening to visit, which I don’t need right now.”

“All mothers are protective.”

“I know, and I love her to bits, but she’s very ... um ...” He flung his arms in the air. “Dramatic! Comes of being a dancer, I suppose.”

“Was she?”

He nodded. “Not sure she’s forgiven me or Chi-chan for not following in her foot or rather dancesteps.”

“Your sister’s a setter,” Tooru remembered. “She plays?”

Suga stared at him, and levered himself off the back cushions, “I told you all this that night at the bus stop. Are you sure you’re not the one with memory loss?”

“Did you?” He frowned, and took a slug of his lemonade. “Oh, yes, you said something about her cheering on Iwa-chan.”

“Uh ...”

“Oh, and then you got confused and said they’d lost to Queens.”

“They did lose to Queens,” Suga said. “It was bad luck facing them in the second round. I mean, in the boys’ competition, they wouldn’t have run into the favourites until at least round three, but there are fewer girls’ teams.”

“She plays for Karasuno Girls!”

“Yes, of course!” Suga ran a hand through his hair. “Can I come back in? I think I’ve lost the thread of this conversation completely.”

“So where does Iwa-chan fit in? Are they cheerleaders for the boys as well?”

“What?”

Tooru slowed his voice as if speaking to a very young and very foreign child. “How. Does. Kou-chan’s. Sister. Know. Iwa-chan?”

Suga glared at him. “Because. A. Coach. Generally. Turns. Up. To. Practice. And. Knows. His. Team.”

“Coach?”

“Oh my god. You really don’t know, do you?”

“Coach!” Tooru repeated, blinking rapidly. “Who is? Wh-what the high heck are you babbling on about now, Koushi? He plays for Karasuno. He’s not a coach!”

“Iwaizumi-kun’s not been playing, Tooru, but he has been coaching my sister’s team.” He fumbled for his bag, pulling out an envelope. “Look, Chiharu sent me the match report.”

Huh?

He snatched at the paper, barely apologising for his rudeness and scanned the article. It was brief, a report of two games essentially, but although the writing was sparse, it gave away the emotions of both games, the high from getting through their first match and then succumbing to the inevitable under the crushing weight of the favourites, finishing with a sense of optimism for Spring High.

“They lost their second round match.”

“Yes.”

“And it says here that Iwaizumi Hajime coaches them.”

“Well, he did, but yes.”

“Did?”

“He’s resigned now. It was a one-term thing, according to Chiharu. She’s heartbroken, well, she would have been but they have a decent enough replacement so I expect she’ll mend.”

Tooru’s throat stuck. “I thought he was playing,” he rasped. “You said ... I heard you and Sawamura and ... Oh my god, you were talking to your sister and not the manager! They weren’t lying.”

“Who?” Suga asked, then shook his head. “No, it doesn’t matter. Just, whatever stick you’ve grabbed the wrong end of, maybe you can sort it out. Shift your hand up the shaft and ... um ... no, not sure that analogy’s working.”

“I thought ... I’ve been so dumb.”

“You look even paler,” Suga said. “Is this _that_ much of a shock?”

His palms were sweating. “Uh ... surprise, really. I had no idea and I thought he was playing. I assumed and even though Makki told me he wasn’t and Konoha said he’d never heard of him, I still thought he’d joined the team and –“ He gulped at the air, feeling his mouth wobble, he spread it into a smile. “This is wonderful.”

“I can see that.” There was a lilt to Suga’s tone, as if amused.

“You don’t understand,” Tooru sniffed. “I thought he was playing for _them_ , and it ... it _ripped_ into me, and I know it was horrible, but the very idea that he was playing with that Setter, that perfect Tobio- _chan_ would be the one tossing to him, and he’d be spiking those _perfect_ tosses. You just can’t know what that did to me. It’s ...”

“Thought you’d have wanted him to play so he kept fit,” Suga murmured. He sounded far away as if he were talking through mist, but Tooru ploughed on.

“Well, anywhere else and it would have been fine, but this ... it felt like a betrayal. Kageyama has always been there, snapping at my heels at Kitigawa Daiichi. I was the Setter, and then he was there, taking over, and – You won’t understand, but it felt like he’d snatch my place away and I couldn’t concentrate. Everything was crumbling and he was always there. He replaced me in a game, and then beating us and going to Nationals. Beating Ushiwaka! Oh, you won’t understand. How could you? ”

“Only you know, right?”

“Some snot-nosed brat coming in and taking over. And everyone treating him like such a genius. He was this god, and I was _nothing_. ‘He’ll be a Setter’ they said, and I would have relegated to the benches, or told I could be a Pinch Server or something.”

“How awful for you.”

“I _heard_ them, Koushi, and – You have no _idea_ of the humiliation.”

“You’re quite sure about that?”

“How could you –” He stopped speaking, aware Suga was on the edge of the futon, his hand crumpling around his shirt. Too late he realised Suga’s whole tone had changed, no longer teasing but toneless.

“Course I don’t,” he said, slow but with an edge that could cut ice in his voice. “It’s not like I spent two years working my ass off with senpais who’d given up, and two friends who were determined we’d find a way. It’s not as if I worked through two years, barely able to start, waiting for my chance only to be cut when a first year comes along.”

“Koushi –”

“And it’s not,” he spat, “as if I lost my place and stayed on the sidelines watching as games were won by someone else’s toss. Only coming on as a Pinch Server – how bloody awful. _How humiliating_! No, no one can understand what you went through, Tooru. One game you missed out on. One fucking game. Try three tournaments. Try having the crowd pity you as a Vice Captain who barely played.”

“It’s not the same. You know your lim –” He bit the word back, but too late.

“My limitations? Yes, I’m well aware of them. But it doesn’t mean it never hurt.”

“Then why didn’t you fight?” Tooru questioned, stung.

“I did. Just not the way you apparently did. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and got on with being a team member rather than a focal point.”

“Feeling sorry for myself. You think I sulk.”

“Oh, please, when we were lining up at the end of that match, you couldn’t even congratulate Kageyama. Even then you picked a fight! And yes,” Suga continued. “At times it bloody hurt when Kageyama set to _my_ Ace. When _my_ Captain charged down a spike from _his_ toss. But I got on with it.”

“ _Your_ Ace. _Your_ Captain. That’s not very team-minded of you, Kou-chan.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that!” He rose abruptly, his face screwed up in a scowl, and the yellowed bruises patched across the top half of his face making him appear malevolent. “I’ll leave you to your essay.”

“Fine.”

“One thing, Oikawa,” Suga called from the door. “If you cared – really cared – about Iwaizumi, you wouldn’t give a flying _fuck_ who he was playing for. You’d relish him playing because it’s something he loves doing, and it would mean he wants to play with you again.”

Glowering, Tooru didn’t reply. He heard the front door slam, setting the picture frames vibrating. _Dumbass, what does he know?_ Reaching for his lemonade, he was annoyed when his trembling hand slopped the liquid over his glass. It landed on Suga’s match report, so he picked it up, blotting it with a cushion.

And then he stopped. There was another article, one written about the Boys’ Final, and although he’d scorned it in his mind as a match he had no interest in, two words caught his attention.

**Iwaizumi Hajime.**

Huh?

He blinked.

**Match report by Iwaizumi Hajime . Photographs by Kinoshita Hisashi.**

He turned back to the other report, and there again was Iwaizumi’s by-line. _I should have realised. This is how he talks. It’s his style ... his exact way of getting to the point._

_How could I_ not _know?_

He scanned the article, finding himself more and more drawn into the match, not breaking until he reached the final paragraphs.

  **‘Volleyball is a team game. It’s six against six, and no matter how good _one_ person is on the other side, no matter their reputation, the other team can still prevail. Karasuno Boys proved that last year and Datekou have proved it again.  This year’s final was tough, and won more on grit than moments of magic. Datekou dug deep; Shiratorizawa fought back with everything they had, and the game could have gone either way.’**

**‘It’s useless to compare to games gone by. There’s no sense in saying a team deserved a win. Whether you’re a genius, a player who’s honed their skills until they shine, or a pairing who’ve reached the stage of perfect trust. You win. You lose. That’s the beauty and the cruelty of volleyball.’**

_The beauty and the cruelty._  

Tears coursed through him, welling behind his eyes, tears he hadn’t let fall since that last awful set of messages from the airport when Iwa-chan had refused to answer.

 

(His mum tells him not to cry, warning of the inevitability of separation. “Perhaps this is a good thing, Tooru.”

“He’s my best friend. How can you think that?”

“Because to grow, people need sunshine, Tooru-chan, not all this ... darkness,” she whispers, and reaching across she holds him to her. “And sometimes I think you’re too tied to the ground to truly find your wings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re moving on,” she says. “You _both_ are. And in different directions. You’re not little children anymore, and Hajime-kun can’t follow you forever. You, my darling, are about to start an exciting new chapter in your life. It’s like a book opening or ...” She gives a light laugh. “In your terms, it’s a new game about to start.”

“A game without the players I know,” he mopes. “Iwa-chan’s refusing to even think about Tokyo.”

“Then maybe ...” She thrusts him away and peers into his eyes, her hand pushing the bangs up his forehead. “Maybe Hajime’s decided to find his place without always being in your shadow.”

_Oh ...)_

 

For the first time in months, his mind propelled him back to the friendly against Nekoma, to a player stretching for the ball, making an impossible receive and screaming his pain to the gymnasium. In slow motion, Tooru remembered his charge from the changing room to court, pushing players out of the way, until he was by his Ace’s side.

_‘Perfect trust.’_

_Oh, Iwa-chan, I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand, small update on progress, I've written chapter 38 and it's had me giggling at how ridiculous and tense it is. I'm so close to the end of the story, now, so 39 -40 chapters, I hope.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this roller-coaster of a story. Love you all!


	32. Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New opportunities continue to fly Hajime's way, but will he grasp them with both hands, and will he take the advice of others?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say that I particularly like the end of this chapter. It's upbeat and after all the angst, I hope it makes you all smile.

“This!”

 _Huh?_ Sitting on a bench outside, about to eat his lunch, Hajime felt something bounce on his head. He looked up to find someone hitting him with a rolled up newspaper. Someone being his sensei, Abukara.

“Pardon, sensei?” He tried politeness, even if he had no idea what he’d apparently done wrong for the guy to be hitting him.

“This,” Abukara repeated the action, then unrolled the paper. “Is a very good piece of writing, Iwaizumi-kun.”

“Oh ... thank you.” He closed his bento box, and tried to stop himself from slavering too much over the thwarting of his appetite. Unfortunately, Abukara took this as a sign he was welcome to join him.

“Tell me,” he asked, sitting down. “Did you do much of this sort of thing at your former school?”

“Uh ... no.”

“There was no school magazine? No chance to contribute?” Abukara thinned his lips. “These elite schools are all the same. It’s results over everything, isn’t it? No chance to explore creativity, no –”

“There was a magazine,” Hajime interrupted, softening his voice so Abukara didn’t think he was too rude. (The sensei’s eyebrow arched, so clearly he didn’t think much of Hajime’s manners.) “But I didn’t contribute anything.”

“What, never?” The sensei sucked on his lip. “Were there better writers? Are you telling me Aobajousai High has such a rich seam of writers that you couldn’t get anything published?”

“No, I didn’t bother before. Too busy playing, sensei.”

“Extraordinary.” He sat a while in silence, and Hajime wondered if would be allowed to eat his lunch. “You enjoyed yourself, I hope?” he asked at last.

“Yeah.” Hajime smiled. “I did, thank you, sensei.”

“Even though you weren’t playing?”

“Mmm, it was good watching from a different perspective.”

“Would you like to do more of it?”

Hajime considered, thinking of the Spring High preliminaries. “It would be good for college credits, so yes, if the paper wants me to write more then I’d like to.”

“I don’t mean for credits or even for the paper,” Abukara said. “But as a career choice.”

“Ah, no. I’m set for Law.”

“Yes, you said.” Levering himself to his feet, Abukara tapped Hajime on the shoulder. “Do you have plans for summer?”

“Nothing really.”

“No work? Or a holiday?”

“My dad has the middle two weeks in August off, so I might go away with them.” He banned the thought from his mind that for the past two years, he’d cried off the family holiday, staying with Oikawa so they could keep training.  “Is there a reason you’re asking, sensei?”

“Not that you’d be at all interested,” Abukara began, his lips twitching, “but I happen to have a contact at the Miyagi Herald, so if you wanted to look around, maybe gain a couple of weeks’ work experience there, then I’m sure it could be arranged. It’s a good placement, and one that could only enhance your college application.” He clicked his tongue. “You’d no doubt prefer a solicitor’s office, but the paper does have a crime section, so I thought of you.”

“Uh...” Hajime knew his mouth was open, and his eyes, but seemed powerless to reply. He’d not attempted any sort of placement before now, the last three summers had all been spent on volleyball courts.

“Talk it over with your parents, anyway,” Abukara said. “If you’d like me to speak to them, then I’m only too happy to help.”

 “Thank you, sensei. Um ... I ... sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, yes would be a start.” He smiled and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But I can see you need time to mull it over.”

“When do you need to know by, Abukara-sama?”

“Is tomorrow morning too soon? That way I can get the ball rolling.”

“Yep, will do, and thanks for thinking of me, sensei.”

“’Yes’,” Abukara automatically corrected, and scowled. “I would have thought that elite school of yours would have drummed in the correct way of speaking.”

“Perhaps I lapsed when I came here,” Hajime replied, and risked a grin.

“Touché!” He gave a dry chuckle. “I’ll leave you to your lunch, Iwaizumi. You’ll clearly faint with hunger if I keep you from it much longer. Come and find me tomorrow.”

And he left, striding through the milling students, leaving Hajime with things to ponder. It _would_ look good on his application; it was the one thing he’d always lacked because volleyball had taken up all his free time, but if he could show an interest in something else, if he could widen his experiences then _any_ college would look more favourably at him – not just Tokyo.

***

His mum had been dozing when he got back, waking up as he walked through the door, and stifling a yawn.

“Twins are at a friend’s,” she explained. “So I thought I’d make the most of the silence. Dinner’s ready when you are.”

“I’m all right for now. Think I’ll get on with some revision.”

“Okay. Eat with me and Dad later, perhaps?”

“Sure. Do you want a drink?”

She snuggled back on the sofa and gave him a smile. “I’m going to see if I can sleep for a bit longer.”

He backed out of the door, closing it softly behind him and padded to his room.

The end of term tests were next week, and while he didn’t think he had any particular problems, he didn’t want to be caught out. Acing them would not only show his teachers he’d not been slacking off, but would prove the faith his parents had in him, and their decision to give him another chance was correct.

It was around an hour into his revision when the email came. He didn’t recognise the sender straight off, but the subject ‘FINAL’ caught his attention.

**‘Hey, Iwaizumi-san, I got your email from Yachi-kun as thought you might like to see some of the other shots I took.  
 Kinoshita’**

Quadratic equations could take a hike for a while. He clicked on the attachments and began to smile. Kinoshita had a good eye. Perhaps it was down to his sideline position of the bench, but he clearly observed well, drawn not just to the moments of drama (although Futakuchi and Goshiki’s spikes were heavily featured) but also to the quieter moments,  Shirabu’s toss to Kawanishi, Shibiyama shifting into place to the right of the Iron Wall.

And then three other pictures appeared, not of the court action, but taken during a timeout. Kinoshita had taken the opportunity to fetch drinks, and on the way back, he must have stopped to take a few extra photos.

The three of them sitting in a row, Makki’s face turned towards Hajime, Mattsun on his other side staring dead ahead. Another picture where Hajime’s hand was raised, clearly explaining a move (He vaguely remembered a conversation with Makki about one of the Queens’ players reaching for a spike.)

And Mattsun had been quiet, not joining in as he usually did not even when Hajime made his usual crack about Middle Blockers taking breaks.

“Hey, it’s me.”

On the other end of the phone, Mattsun gave a hint of a groan. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

Hajime could hear the surprise and practically see Mattsun’s eyebrows quirking in disbelief.

“Yeah really.”

“If this is about Oikawa,” Mattsun continued flatly. “I’ve _not_ heard from him and I get this is difficult but –”

_I’m a fucking selfish twat!_

“Mattsun,” he interrupted. “Issei, I was calling to ask if you –” _were okay_ “- wanted to catch a movie. I owe you for the ramen.”

“Oh. Uh ... I’m kinda tired. I was about to have a bath and then crash.”

“It’s not even seven.”

“I’m covered in grease, so need a long soak and a bottle of bubblebath.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Not sure.” He gave a yawn.

“Saturday?”

“I’m tidying the garage. It’s all perks being the boss’s son.”

“Want a hand?”

“Iwaizumi, what is this?”

“Just ... uh ... thought we could hang out.”

“Well, Saturday’s out. Insurance won’t cover a non-employee helping out near the equipment.”

“You eat, though, don’t you? Or is that not allowed?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re preparing a romantic picnic, Hajime? I’m not sure my heart could take it.”

Hearing the sardonic chuckle, Hajime laughed out his relief. “Burger, if you’re lucky.”

“Extra fries?”

“Sure. I’ll see you at one?”

“Yeah, okay. See you then.”

 

Over dinner, he broached the subject of Abukara’s offer. It was easier to talk without the Chibis chiming in every three seconds, and he was able to start neutrally enough, explaining baldly what had happened.

“Is it necessary?” his mum asked.

(He’d known she’d ask that.)

“It won’t harm a college application,” he countered casually. “I know a few kids in my class have actual internships set up for the whole of summer.”

“But this isn’t an internship,” his father stated.

“Nope.” He put down his chopsticks. “It’s more like work experience. Two or three weeks, at the most.”

“Wouldn’t your time be spent better revising? Or maybe applying to a solicitor’s office?”

“I might have left it a bit late,” Hajime muttered, turning back to his mother. “Sorry, I didn’t really think of it before now. At Seijou they -.”

“Would have offered something similar, but you were too busy with volleyball,” his mum reprimanded.

“Well, yeah...” He tried to look sheepish, but back then volleyball had earned him his scholarship, so it hadn’t been the wrong decision

“It’s a newspaper, though.”

“With a crime section, Mum, so they do court reports, cover cases and all that stuff.”

“And you’d get to work in that section,” she persisted.

“Uh ... not sure. Abukara-sama said it was an option. He’s willing to talk over this with you, if you want.”

“And what do you want, Hajime?” His father’s voice was soft, his eyes assessing.

He stared back, then cast a look at his Mum. Her eyes were thoughtful, neither approving nor disapproving as she waited for his answer. “If it’s okay with you, then I’d like to say yes,” he replied, sucking on his lip as he thought of a reason. “I think it’ll be interesting and useful to see law from another side.”

“As long as you’re not the criminal,” his dad deadpanned.

Hajime grinned. “I’m not going to that extreme.”

His Mum still appeared dubious, but she raised no more objections beyond saying he’d still have to make time for his schoolwork.

“I’m not playing, Mum,” he replied blithely. “I’ll be fine.”

 

***

Practice on the Friday afternoon was lively. Hajime wandered along, meaning to sit outside, but Oshiro spotted him and dragged him into the gym.

“Hey, stranger!”

He raised his hand to them all, bowing to Michimiya, who was leading them in a series of stretches. “I’m not interfering, am I?”

“No.”

“I could set things up if you want.”

“Got that covered, thank you,” she replied, a little stiffly, then seemingly relented. “Would you toss some balls for serve practise? It’s easier if I can watch.”

“Sure.” He dragged the basket of balls out of the store room, setting it on the side, then realising it was half empty, went back to find the others.

He was rounding up four balls, balancing them in his arms when he heard the wolf whistles. Ito and his crowd, from the sound of it, who’d not cat-called since their confrontation, but had obviously heard Hajime was no longer coach.

“Yo, girls! Heard about your defeat. Why not give up now, and let us have more court time?”

“Nothing short of constant practise and the other basketball teams getting struck down with bubonic plague will improve your chances,” retorted Misa.

“Aw, she loves me really, don’t you, Misa?”

“In your dreams!” she spat.

“And stretch your hamstrings out now,” Michimiya intoned, her back to them.

“OOOH, new girl!” chanted one of the other boys.

“Our new coach,” Misa snapped.

Hajime crept to the door, peering out while he decided whether to intervene.

“Yeah, I heard Iwaizumi couldn’t hack it.” Ito had stepped further into the gym. “Was it ‘cuz you lost?”

They ignored him.

“I bet it’s ‘cuz he thought he stood a chance with some of them, and quit when he realised they were all – ” laughed one of the younger players, a gangling kid with brown floppy hair, winking at his friend.

“All what?” Oshiro demanded.

“Concentrate,” Michimiya warned.

“Not into boys,” Floppy-hair’s friend hooted. “Like, isn’t that why y’all like girls team sports?”

Oshiro laughed. “Is that why you play basketball, ‘cause you’re _only_ into boys?”

And it would have silenced them, but just then another voice piped up. Angry, emotional and shrill. “What does it matter?” Sugawara shrieked. “What’s the problem with liking boys or girls? What has that got to do with playing a sport? Why does that matter at all, Abe-kun?”

“Sugawara, ignore them,” Michimiya ordered, but gently.

Hajime pondered stepping out, not making an issue of it, but showing them he was there if necessary. Except, was that going to make Michimiya’s job harder?

“He’s like this all the time!” Sugawara seethed. “Snide comments in class and leering at any girl that comes close.”

“Save it,” Misa said, and put her arm around her shoulders. She turned back. “Ito, take your team and leave. It’s not your turn yet.”

 “Ito?” Michimiya interrupted, and finally turned around to face them “I know your sister, don’t I? She was Captain in my second year. I remember you ...” Her mouth curved into a smile, and she turned her doe eyes on him. “We’re still in touch.”

“M-Michimiya-san,” he stammered. “W-what are you doing here?”

“As Misa-kun explained, I’m the new coach,” she explained succinctly and switched off her smile. “And it’s our session, so if you’d stop interrupting, then we can get on with it. Or else, I’ll be forced to make up time by cutting into _your_ lunchtime practice.”

“You can’t do that!” Floppy-hair  yelped. “Ito-san, she can’t do that, can she?”

“Uh ...”

At last, Hajime stuck his head out, watched as Ito shuffled his feet, then placed his hand on his outspoken kouhai’s chest.  “We apologise, Michimiya-san. We won’t interfere again.”

“Good.” She snapped her attention back to the girls, her face pink now. “Okay, I think we’re done with the stretches. Chiharu-kun, see what’s holding up Iwaizumi, will you?”

She was red-eyed and pink cheeked as she stumbled into the changing room, and Hajime looked away, not wanting to compound her embarrassment. But when she tripped again, he caught her in one arm and lowered her gently onto a bench.

“Hey, what’s up?” he whispered.

“You heard them!”

“Yeah, I did, but you know what that crowd are like.” He sat next to her, close but not touching. “You’ve never reacted like that before.”

“So I’m wrong to fight back.”

“I didn’t say that,” he muttered, “but it’s out of character. So ... uh... what’s the matter?”

“I’m sick of bigots like him, that’s what’s the matter. And I don’t see why I should have to put up with his homophobia in class when the sensei won’t stop him, and then again when he drops in here!”

“He’s a douchebag,” Hajime consoled her. “It’s what basketball players are like. They’re so tall that their brains are starved of oxygen, so they say crap without thinking.”

“Don’t joke,” she sniffled.

“Sorry.”

A figure moved in the door. It was Michimiya, but on seeing Sugawara crying, she raised her hand and then backed out.

“Look, people like that kid are shit. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for challenging him,” Hajime replied. “But if there’s another reason you’re upset, then maybe you could talk to someone.”

From the gym, he could hear the sounds of serves, something she probably shouldn’t skimp on, but Sugawara’s shoulders were shaking and although her hair flopped over her face, Hajime could see tear trails down her cheeks.

 “If he’s been picking on you in class because you’re ... uh ... gay, then you can report him. Maybe go and see one of the counsel -”

“Me?” She blinked and raised her eyes to his.” It’s not about me. My – uh - someone I know I think was attacked because he’s gay, but he’s told Mum.” She chewed the side of her thumb. “Okay, it’s my brother. He had to go to hospital and he told Mum it was a volleyball injury.”

“Could have been,” Hajime replied, and stretched out his leg.

“A black eye and burst nose, yes,” she continued. “Bruised ribs and concussion, yes. But ...” She shook her head, then stared back at him, her eyes fierce and impassioned. “Not all from one incident on court.”

He couldn’t deny her logic.

“And Daichi-san was really uptight about it, too. If it was a normal injury, then he wouldn’t be angry, so I know it has to be more serious.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Please, don’t tell anyone I told you about Daichi.”

“I won’t.” He refrained from telling her it wasn’t much of secret.

Her shoulders were shaking again, horror that she’d said too much and shock sinking in. Hajime stretched out his arm, laying it across her shoulders.

“You don’t know it’s because he’s gay,” he tried to reason. “People get into fights all the time. Look at me and Ito a few weeks ago.”

She sniffled. “That wasn’t really a fight. He fell over.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but my brothers get stuck in all the time.”

“They’re ten!”

“True. Try not to worry too much,” he said, hoping to reassure her. Her shakes had at least lessened to the odd gulping breath. “If your brother says he’s okay, then maybe he is.”

“I just wish he’d _tell_ me.” She glanced at him. “Oh ... Oikawa-san.”

“What about him?” he asked, his eyes wary. “Has he been hurt?”

“Um, no. Well, I don’t know, but he’s friends with Koushi and you’re friends with him, so ... um ... could you ask him?”

“Uh.”

“Obviously don’t mention me. Koushi will have briefed everyone to keep quiet, but when you next talk to him, could you see what you can find out?” She swallowed. “Please.”

“I don’t know when I’ll see him. It’s not like he’s going to talk about it over the phone,” Hajime stalled. “Um, and like you said, your brother’s bound to have told everyone to keep quiet.”

 “Oh, I guess so,” she said, and shrugged off his arm as she stood up.  A whistle went from the gym, and she pulled her shirt straight. “I really should get back to practise. Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.”

“No problem.” He gave her a half-smile. “Take out your anger on the court. It’s more satisfying than breaking a guy’s nose, however tempting that is.”

The practice continued. Hajime threw balls, cleared cones, and listened as Michimiya rapped out orders, her shoulders hunched and a scowl on her face. She was different from the girl he’d met in the cafe. Unsmiling and stern, she exuded a toughness he’d not expected from her. Once or twice, he caught Misa’s expression, a little fearful as she studied the first years, and then glanced at him.

“Misa, when you’ve had your turn at receiving,” Michimiya called out from the sidelines. “We’ll try a three on three. And Sugawara?”

“Yes.”

“Another three receives. You missed some.”

Of course.” Her face paled, but she went to the baseline.

Hajime stepped closer to Michimiya. “Um, I don’t want to interfere...” he started, and waited for her to snap.

But she didn’t say ‘Then don’t’ but murmured out of the corner of her mouth, “I know I’m being tough on her. I figured she could use the distraction.”

“Ah, okay. I’ll ... um ... would you rather I left?”

“No, I just need to find my way of doing things,” she whispered. “It’s new to me.”

So he went back to watching and tried hard not to brood on Sugawara’s story.  Fights, he’d been involved in a few. Not as many as his short temper would suggest, as he generally barked rather than bit, but there’d been times when the red mist had descended and swirled to his fists. Times when he’d been unable to counter with smart-arse replies, or when he’d felt the only defence was attack.

 

(“You didn’t have to punch him, Iwa-chan!”

“He was being mean!”

“So what? You could have ignored him.”

“ _And_ he barged into you.”

“ _And_ I was okay.” Tooru had scowled, then pulled a rather grubby handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing it on Hajime’s nose. “If he tells sensei, you’ll get a detention.”

He’d had a detention, along with the boy who’d picked on Tooru for his alien shirt. _What the fuck was his name?_ And when he recalled that incident, he also remembered Tooru waiting outside for him, with a bar of melty chocolate and a warm bottle of coke. 

Friends forever, but now all he could see Oikawa in shadow, slipping further and further away. )

 

“Earth to Iwaizumi.”

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts and Oikawa’s face dissolved into Michimiya’s. “Sorry.”

“We’re finishing up,” she declared. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Sure.”

They wandered outside, leaving the team to clear the nets and make the court ready for the basketball boys. Hajime stood at the door, arms folded across his chest and ready to glare at Abe if he so much as looked at Sugawara.

“I wasn’t a good captain, you know?” Michimiya began. “I was too soft on them and never got angry when they skipped practises. We didn’t have a coach, so I floundered with the responsibility.”

“So you’re going for the ‘don’t smile for a term’ approach, are you?”

“Something like that,” she muttered. “I need to keep a distance. But ... um  ... thank you for helping Sugawara earlier, she looks up to you.”

 “I’ll keep away,” he promised. “I won’t interfere.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him. “And come along anytime, if you want. Although ...”

“Hmm?”

“Are you back to fitness?”

“Knee’s okay. I can run, but I’ve not played for months, so no.”

“But that’s easily solved, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?”

“Join a club. Get match fit, then you can play again.”

“Uh... no. Final year and I have to focus on studies.”

“You can’t convince me you don’t miss it,” she cut in. “You practically live every move and play.”

“This is my second chance at getting to Tokyo.”

“But if you don’t play, then how will you get on a university team? **”**

“This is my last chance,” he said stubbornly.

“So you’re prepared to never play again?”

“I-I didn’t say that!” he barked.

“S-sorry...” She backed away. “I shoot my mouth off. It’s really not my business and ... um ... sorry again.”

“It’s fine,” he said, but looked away from her.

And there he was, stuck in the same old, same old cycle.   _If I don’t play, I won’t make the team. If I play, I won’t get to Tokyo. If I don’t get to Tokyo, all this year has been a waste. But if I play for Karasuno, then we’re finally screwed._

Oh, fuck this!

***

The sounds and smells were familiar, but the voices not. It was eight in the evening; Hajime had told his parents he was on his way to see a friend – a lie they’d swallowed without a blink. And although he felt all shades of guilt because he’d promised them he wouldn’t get involved, he had to know.

_And this was okay, wasn’t it?_

_Just once._

He pushed open the door, hoping he’d got the right place and scanned the figures currently leaping and running, twisting and turning on a court, figures trying their best to fly, to soar and aim a ball onto the opposite side of the court.

“HIGH FIVE!” rasped the Setter, accepting a clap from a long-haired guy, one with a headband. One who the last time Hajime had been that close, he’d shaken his hand through a net.

_Am I really doing this?_

“Keishin, honey,” called out a woman from the bench.  And she, too, looked familiar, with blonde choppy hair and fierce eyes, which opened wide when she perused him. “You’ve got a visitor.”

The Setter - Ukai - turned round, and his mouth twisted into a smile. He gave his Wing Spiker a side-glance. “Azumane-kun, I think you just got yourself some competition.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few days have been incredibly tough on people I love, so if you're going through a bad time, then I hope reading this gives you some respite. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you find some sunshine.


	33. Nose Dive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day starts off well, but then ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like a roller-coaster but with the cart only on the downhill track. Although the end is a little brighter. :D

Her voice hitched, but Tooru ploughed on, stopping the guilt from forming. “It’s a tournament, so I need to stay in Tokyo.”

“But it’s your birthday? I thought you’d be back!” she said.

“I am sorry, but this is important, Mum. Part of the reason I got my place was through a sports scholarship, so I have to make myself available.” He sniffed a bit, adding to the verisimilitude. “You could come and visit – bring Takeru.”

“I can’t come _on_ your birthday, Tooru. I’m helping your sister with Takeru, and I’m not sure it’s wise bringing him to Tokyo in the summer.”

“He’s okay, isn’t he?”

“The pollution isn’t good for his chest, but aside from that he’s full of beans.”

“Oh.” Tooru rubbed the bridge of his nose, listening to his mum as she made small talk about his sister and how busy she’d been.  He slumped back in the seat, reaching for his coffee, when Fujita loomed into view

“Oikawa-san! May I?”  she asked as she pointed to a chair, quickly hushing when she realised he was on the phone.

“Sure.”

“Pardon?” his mum asked.

“Sorry, Mum, not you.” He grinned at Fujita, mouthing an apology. “Friend of mine from Psychology.”

“A girl?” his mum suggested.

“Yes, now you mention it, Fujita-san is female,” he agreed, and smirked.

“Was this the girl you saw the silly film with?”

“That’s right,” he replied.  “Fujita-kun, my mother thinks Devil Girl from Mars sounds like a very silly film.”

“Tooru, don’t embarrass me!” his mother cried.

“You were right. It was silly, but a lot of fun.” He took a breath. “I need to go soon. My next class starts soon, but ... um ... is it all right about the laptop, then?”

“Oh ...” He could picture her considering, head tilted to the side, her lips pursed.

“It could be my birthday present,” he suggested.

“No, no, that’s fine. It is necessary, after all.”

“And will you explain to Dad? Only I have tried to call him,” he lied.

“Of course. I’ll transfer the money into your account today.”

He thanked her, then finished off by enquiring (and hoped he sounded casual) about her recent trip abroad.

“Ah, sweet of you to ask, Tooru-chan. It was the usual business trip, but I managed to squeeze some shopping in and had the odd afternoon sightseeing. I even persuaded your father to accompany me on one or two occasions.” She laughed. “He must be mellowing in his old age.”

_Or feeling guilty._

He said goodbye rather rapidly after that, thanking her again for the promise of money, and then sat back in his seat.

“You look troubled,” Fujita said. “Is it your essay?”

“Hmm?” He stared back at her. “Ah, no, it’s all done.”

“That’s amazing! But you look shattered.”

“I’m mainlining caffeine,” he mock-growled.

“You can sleep when you’ve handed it in,” Fujita consoled, swigging some water.

“I _wish_. I have -”

“You’re going to say volleyball, aren’t you?” She literally rolled her eyes. “I thought sport was supposed to be good for you?”

He smiled, and picked up his bag, flipping through the contents just to make sure. “I don’t think we’re ever going to agree, are we, Fujita-chan?” he said, and stifled a yawn. “Come on, I’m going to hand this in, sit in his lecture and be bright and bubbly if it kills me.”

Sighing she stood up, but as they were wending their way through the tables, she plucked on his sleeve. “Have you had any more trouble from Kato?”

“No, thank goodness. I think the fact you have a video of the incident has helped. Oh, I should tell that to the police. I didn’t know before  –” He broke off, seeing her bite her lip. “You do still have that, don’t you?”

“Um ... no. I mean, I never had it. I did see him attack Sugawara. I didn’t lie about that, but my phone was really low on battery and by the time I’d turned the camera on, it had ... uh ... died.”

“You were bluffing.”

She swallowed. “Yes. It was the only thing I could think to do. Sorry.”

“N-no, that’s  uh ... Thank you. It’s ... well, he believes it, so it’s ... fine,” he murmured.

But his mind was going into overdrive. If Kato found out, then they were back to square one, and relying purely on the police believing their version of events.

And still something else about that night bothered him. He grimaced as he again tried to plumb the recesses of his memory, but nothing was surfacing.

_Green carpet._

“What?”

“Oikawa-kun?”

“Nothing.”He shook his head. “Come on. We should go.”

 

It was a core class, and Suga had returned, sitting with Yaku at the side. And although Yaku glanced up, flashing him an immediate smile before his mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as he realised what Tooru’s appearance meant,  Suga stared dead ahead.

_Never realised quite how stubborn you were, Koushi-chan,_ he thought. But he should have known. No one stuck it out on the sidelines without a strong streak of obstinacy.

_It’s you making everyone dig their heels in, Oikawa!_

“Shut up!”

“Oikawa?” Again Fujita had overheard, and again she plucked on his sleeve. “Are you okay?” she whispered. “You could hand this in tomorrow, you know? Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“No, I’m good.” He pulled away from her, then swanning past the rest of the class, he strode to the front, and stood waiting for Takahisho to realise he was there.

“Leave it on my desk,” the sensei said, not looking up.

“It’s my essay,” Tooru replied, his voice clear and carrying, in case Takahisho hadn’t realised. “A day early.”

“And I’m not going to be marking it this instant, Oikawa-kun. I have a class to teach.”

It wasn’t as if he’d expected gratitude or admiration, but he had – he realised – wanted a modicum of respect, some acknowledgement that he hadn’t failed.

“If you’re gracing us with your presence today, then perhaps you’d be so kind as to find a seat,” Takahisho challenged. “Only I’d like to start.”

The class had fallen silent. Everyone on tenterhooks as they waited for Tooru’s next move. And he hated to bow down. He hated the idea that someone had bested him.

_Insignificant pride, Iwa-chan, can you believe he said that?_

It’s what drives me.

_Just suck it up, Oikawa, for once._

And then Takahisho finally looked up, and he took in Tooru’s face, his eyes widening. “You look awful,” he murmured. “If you wish to skip this class, then you may. I won’t count it as an absence, Oikawa-kun.”

What was this? Kindness?  Tooru scrutinised Takahisho’s face, wondering where the mockery was. But his sensei’s features didn’t move. 

“No, I’m good, thank-you, sensei,” Tooru replied. He turned away, found a seat next to Fujita, and unpacked his books.

Across the aisle, Yaku huffed out his cheeks, but Suga still wasn’t looking his way.

 

It was the end of class, Tooru was fumbling over packing up his bag, and saw Suga sliding eel-like out of the room. “Koushi!” he called out. “Suga!”

“I’d leave it,” Yaku said, his hand on Tooru’s arm. “He’s pissed with everyone at the moment.”

“Not just me then?”

“He came back from yours in a foul mood, and then it deteriorated from there. He argued with Daichi. Kuroo and me hightailed it to a ramen bar.” He snorted. “It’s usually us yelling. Quite different being on the receiving end.”

He broke off from speaking, peering at Tooru. “You look like shit!”

“Thank you so much.”

“You should go home.”

“Nope, I’m getting my second wind and promised Bokuto I’d fit in some more practise. Want to come along?”

“Yeah, sure.”

 

It wasn’t just Bokuto at the gym. Sawamura and a few first years were there, along with most of the second years and five third years, including the first team captain. Competition for places was always going to be intense; with several others on scholarships, the rivalries had intensified, as everyone wanted their chance. Given Sawamura’s speech from a few weeks back and how relaxed he was about not making the team (yet), Tooru was somewhat surprised to see him digging in and pulling off a spectacular set of receives, flinging himself across the court at one point as he powered after Nakajima’s serve.

“Nice receive!” Nakajima yelled and held his hand up to cease the current plays. “As there are so many of us, let’s have a bit of a game. Not compulsory and if you can’t stick around it won’t mean you’re not in consideration for places, but –” He gave a wry grin, “- it won’t harm your chances either.”

Sawamura acknowledged the compliment with a blunt nod and wandered across to where Tooru and Yaku were standing, but didn’t quite join them.

“Hey, what’s happ –”Bokuto ran in, a yawn ripping through his words, “-enning?”

“Impromptu match,” Yaku replied.

“Let’s see if they’ll put us together,” Tooru murmured. “Could give us an edge on selection day if we play this right.”

“Sure, sure.” Bokuto rolled one shoulder and stretched his arm across his chest pulling at the elbow. “Hey, Sawamura! Is Suga back?”

“Think he stomped off to the cafeteria,” Yaku supplied, grimacing at Bokuto. “He’s not very happy today.”

“He’s getting better, though, isn’t he? Like, he’s in college, so that’s gotta be good.”

“Did you say he was here? In college?” Sawamura demanded. “I thought he was signed off another week.”

“He came in with me,” Yaku replied. “Says he’s stir crazy.”

“Fuck! I’ll have to go. Cafeteria, right.”

“What good is charging after him going to do?” Yaku muttered.

“He won’t thank you, Sawa-chan,” Tooru agreed.

“What the fuck do you know?”

“He said as much last night,” Tooru said, keeping his tone neutral. “Besides, you’ll miss the game.”

“Like I care –”

It was Yaku who grabbed his arm. Shorter and far less stocky, he still radiated authority. “Tooru’s right. Don’t run after him.”

“What if he runs into that fucker?”

“Who?” Bokuto was flicking between the pair of them.

Sawamura stopped. “No one.”

“You know who did it?” Bokuto asked, his eyes narrowing. “Thought they were strangers, Oikawa?”

“It _probably_ was someone from college,” Tooru stalled, taking his cue from Sawamura who was glaring at him. “But whether either of us would know them again is another matter.”

“Oikawa,” Nakajima called out. “You’re with me. Bokuto, too, and ...” His eyes scanned the room, settling on some second years.

_Does this mean he sees us as a unit?_

Shortly after, Yaku and a reluctant Sawamura were called out by the Vice Captain, and the pair of them trooped to the other side of the gym. Tooru could see Sawamura deep in conversation with Yaku, and still looking as if he was about to bolt, but just as he was shaking off Yaku’s hand, a flurry of footsteps and apologies were heard. Kuroo, in his old Nekoma colours jogged into the gym, and making his way to the seats was Suga, still sporting his dark glasses but holding up his hand in greeting.

“Sugawara, good to see you,” Nakajima said, not letting his eyes linger on the obvious bruising. “Want to keep score?”

“Sure.” He stopped by the board, setting it to zero, and took a slurp of his coffee.

Some of the second years were glancing at Suga, their interest more obvious when he removed his glasses, displaying a still puffed nose.

“Kuroo, if you want a game, you can come on my team,” Nakajima continued.

“On my way,” Kuroo replied, stopping behind Bokuto.  “Didn’t know this was gonna be a game.”

“Nor did we,” Oikawa muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Nakajima-san decided on the spur of the moment. I’ve never seen as many players here when there’s no official session.” He side-eyed Kuroo, trying to gage his expression (eyes half-closed, assessing, and a slow smile through thin lips). “You’re really up for this, aren’t you?”

“You sound surprised,” Kuroo replied. “But if I get a chance on the team, I’m taking it.”

“Thought you were going to concentrate on your degree and working this year.”

“Yup, guess I said that, but ...” He licked his lips. “I’m good at juggling. I was known for never letting a ball drop.”

“That could have been better put,” Tooru snorted, but his words were lost as Nakajima, having procured a whistle signalled for them all to line up.

He was on the sidelines, Nakajima having started with the best of the second year setters, Satou, who Tooru knew had efficient form but not a great deal of flair. He reminded him of Shirabu, except this time there wasn’t one player he could dedicate himself to. Still, he was skilled enough, and his style of tossing accommodated the current team well.

The first choice setter, a third year on the other side, was a shade shorter than Tooru, but broader. His tosses were perfectly timed, he had a range of strong serves, but his game sense was less than exceptional. His main attribute was the fact he knew the players well, worked hard on establishing connections, but his observations during the game unravelled under pressure.

(“He’s lethargic towards the end of games,” Suga had observed once after a long and winding practice match.

“Yeah, well Kenma was lethargic all the way through, but he still won us games,” Kuroo retorted, bitter not because his team had lost but because he’d barely had a chance to play.

“True, but Haru-san doesn’t seem to think for himself. It’s like he’s tossing by rote – good though he is, he’s not ... uh ...” He’d smiled a little at Sawamura. “What was it Ukai-san used to say? A Setter is –”

“Like a conductor,” Sawamura had finished. “Yeah, I know what you mean. He’s more Second Violin.”)

 

There were more than those two Setters, but Tooru saw them as his rivals, and knew although he wasn’t yet on Haru’s level in terms of experience, he was snapping on Satou’s heels. The main drawback was his lack of Nationals experience. Satou had been a part of the Tsubakihara Academy team that had qualified two years ago and although they’d gone out early, it was still more than Tooru had managed, as Satou had delighted in discovering when Tooru first turned up.

Bokuto was restless behind him, his feet shuffling and squeaking on the floor, but Tooru was only faintly aware of this as his concentration deepened as he watched the game. Yaku was on. The college’s first team Libero had made it clear he was retiring at the end of this tournament, so the team was anxious to find a long-term replacement. And Yaku was good. Silent in his plays, but always _there._ He had an aura of safety about him, a presence of calm, of knowing he had your back. And staring at him, as he positioned himself behind Haru, Tooru had a sudden picture of Yaku pulling on a first team shirt, and not that far into the future.

“Does he want to turn pro?” he murmured to Kuroo.

Kuroo followed his gaze. “Think it’s always an option, but he doesn’t talk about it much.”

“I forget how talented he is,” Tooru pondered.

“Yakkun was like the hardest of you cats to get past,” Bokuto butted in.

“What about me?”

“Nah, you were just annoying,” Bokuto said, chuckling.

The game continued, Yaku exchanging places with one of the second year Middle blockers, but not subbed off for another Libero. Sawamura clapped him on the back, but it was a desultory congratulation, his focus not entirely on the game in hand.

On the scoreboard, Suga was steadfastly ignoring both sets of players on the sidelines, focusing only on the game.

“Bokuto!” Nakajima shouted.

He jogged on, jumping into place on the right, eyes flicking from side to side.  Then Sawamura was called, and took his place on the back row, his position ready for whatever the opposing team might throw at them.

Satou’s toss was safe, a chance Bokuto relished and such was his joy at getting a chance so early on in the game, he slammed it with ferocity to the back of the court. What no one on the current team counted on, though, was Sawamura’s tenacity, stepping in the trajectory of the spike and receiving with such aplomb it were as if the ball were made of cotton wool and not the missile Bokuto’s spikes usually were.

And Suga, who’d let out a mild whoop of support for Bokuto changed his trajectory too.

“Go Boku  - WHOA! AMAZING, DAI!”

Then he glowered as if remembering that he was in a strop with him.

After that Sawamura relaxed, the smile returned to his face, for even though Suga gave no indication his mood had lightened and that he was paying him any attention, that instinctive show of support and delight, had lightened his day.

“You snatched at that,” Satou scolded Bokuto, pulling on his arm.

“Huh?”

“This isn’t High School now.”

 “Kerist, that guy’s a dick,” Kuroo muttered. “Notice how he does it where the Captain can’t hear.”

“Maybe he thinks it’ll fire Bokuto up,” Tooru murmured. “It could work if he thinks he has something to prove.”

“Yeah, not so sure about that.”

His attempt to dig deeper was foiled when Kuroo was called on, leaving Tooru on the sides.  He glanced towards Suga, hoping to at least break the froideur between them with a smile, but Suga, his shoulders set, and firmly facing the front, refused to look his way.

After an almost perfect set-up from Haru to one of the second-year wing spikers, Kuroo pulled off a spectacular wipe, sending the ball far out of bounds.

It was Bokuto’s serve. His toss was a little off, causing his power to mute, but his aim was true and it was still hard to receive. Yaku got under it, sending the ball to Haru, who this time tossed to his Ace.

“Chance Ball!” yelled Nakajima when he got under the ball, sending it spinning towards Satou.

Tooru’s interest intensified, the permutations of the next move pricking inside his head. With the other team on the lookout for Bokuto or the Captain, they were trying to read the toss. Satou’s form – usually fluid and hard to read – had leant right towards Bokuto. Expecting this to be a feint, for Satou to toss the other way, Tooru was astonished when the ball did indeed head towards Bokuto.

And was blocked – The Middle Blocker tapping it down for a point.

“AGHHH!”

“You’ll get the next one!” Kuroo called.

“Thought you were an Ace,” jeered one of the third years on the other side.

“Put it out of your mind,” Nakajima cautioned.

It was Haru’s serve. An ace. The Libero another first year, unable to deal with the power and swerve the third year sent his way.

“Dammit!” Satou grumped, and shot a glare to his right. “Haru-san’s serves are the ones we don’t want to have to deal with!”

_But we’ll  have to deal with others equally powerful,_ thought Tooru, hand on his chin as he took in the exchange. _Might as well practise._

Haru served again. This time Nakajima pulled off a superb receive, laughing at Haru’s ‘AGHH!’. Nakajima cushioned the ball then sent it floating straight to Satou. With two Wing Spikers in the vanguard, and the possibility of a dump shot, the Setter signalled for a back attack, tossing high in the air.

He’d topped some spin on the ball, the rotations screwing the direction, and Bokuto jumping high for this new chance, calculated quickly, then adjusted his shot, heading for a centre straight, rather than cross-court.

“LEAVE IT!” Sawamura yelled. And the spike, satisfyingly for the other side, dropped just a hairs breadth the other side of the line.

“What the –” Satou bit back the curse. “Good try,” he said instead.

“Change with Oikawa, Satou-kun,” Nakajima commanded.

At last.

He all but leapt onto court, maintaining the pretence of camaraderie with Satou, they slapped a high five as they passed each other. Suga’s eyes, Tooru felt sure, had flicked onto the exchange, but he was back busying himself with the scoreboard.

Haru served for the third time, but it had lost some power and Suga’s words about lethargy sprang to mind. It wasn’t so much tiredness as a loss of focus, Tooru thought. The ball had a swerve on it, and was headed towards Bokuto. He received, sending the ball towards the right. Tooru stretched his fingers, getting into position. From his peripheral vision, he saw Bokuto. To his right and left, the two other Wing Spikers and Kuroo were at the net. The opposing team’s blockers had begun to bunch together, waiting to read the toss. There was a split second, maybe less, where he considered a dump shot, but he could hear the breaths of his team, see Kuroo gearing up for a leap, and tossed to the second year Wing Spiker to his right.

It was perfection.

But he missed, slamming the ball into the net.

“Don’t mind,” Tooru called out, adding, “Sorry, was that too high?”

“Too far,” the second year replied, and conjured up a smile.

“Maybe try the other guy next,” Kuroo whispered. “Or me. And Bokuto’ll be good for a back attack.”

“I do know how to play, Kuroo-chan,” Tooru murmured.

“I know. Just saying...” He trailed off, getting into place at the net as they waited for Haru’s fourth serve.

Again, it was weaker, but he’d aimed it straight at Tooru. Nakajima wasn’t going to let this happen and stepped in front, getting the receive and batting it away. Kuroo picked it up, tipping it back to Tooru. And now Bokuto was storming up from the rearguard, staking his claim.

Or he should have been.

Instead, Bokuto Koutarou, former Ace of Fukurodani appeared glued to the baseline.

“Ah fuck it!” Tooru heard Kuroo rasp. 

With no time, Tooru tossed to the third year on his left. He scored, slamming it down just past the opposing blockers, the angle narrow but true.

“Great toss!” he cried, thumping Tooru on the back.

“Thank you.” But Tooru’s eyes had switched to Bokuto, listless at the back. ‘Next one,’ he mouthed.

Bokuto blinked.

The second year wing spiker took a serve. He floated it over the net, the intention to befuddle the opposing team’s backline but Sawamura was still there, and deftly hoofed it towards Haru. He set up another third year, tall with straggling black hair, who tried a feint. Kuroo dived for it, sending it to Tooru.

_Now!_

The set was high, and slightly back, the sort of toss he knew Bokuto could handle, but only if he was in the right frame of mind. It was a set that would cause the spike and the spiker to look cool, easier than it looked to hit from the back. He heard the sound of footsteps thundering up the court, watched as the second year approached, as Kuroo and the other blockers leapt as decoys, and then Bokuto leapt as if he had pistons in his thighs and powered the ball down.

It went wide.

“NOOOOOOOO!” Bokuto landed, clutching his hair in his fingers. “SOOORRRYYYYY!”

“Don’t mind,” yelled Nakajima.

“That toss was-” the second year began.

“What?”

“Oh, it was _great_ ,” he continued, pulling a face. “Maybe a little hard for ... uh ... some people.”

“No, no. Toss was good,” Bokuto complained. “Oikawa-kun’s great. One o’ the best. I’m sorry. Can’t –”

“Hey, cut the crit. We don’t debrief on court,” Nakajima ordered. “Jirou’s up next. Jump float. So watch it.”

Tooru rolled his neck, heard a satisfying crick, and waited for the serve. Jirou was an excellent pinch server. A senior and one who said he’d continue to the end of the year. He was also tireless at helping the others, in particular he’d serve to Liberos, giving them the workout. He aimed for the Libero, not Bokuto, and Tooru felt his throat unsticking.

Another chance.

The Libero was generous and skilled, tipping it towards Tooru. He had Kuroo itching for a chance, the second year and Bokuto in the back row, Nakajima and the other third year in front.

And three blockers waiting for his move, smirks on their faces as they tried to face him down, so sure he try something new, so sure they knew his every move.

That decided him.

“BOKKUN!” he yelled, tossing again, the exact same toss, just how Bokuto liked it. Unfortunately, this time there was no primal roar, but a flurry of footsteps as Nakajima rushed to plug the gap before the ball fell, and tipped it at the three-man wall.

“Chance Ball!” And this time, Kuroo stuck out his arm, hoisting towards Tooru. One more. But Bokuto hadn’t called for it, and the third year Wing Spiker was fevered. Tooru’s fingertip set was a little too wide, but the Spiker snatched at his chance, sending it slam into the corner of the opposing court, missing Sawamura by a whisker.

“ALL RIGHT!”

Bokuto was at the back of the court, even his hair seemed flat. Dejected mode, Tooru had heard it called. Something that Bokuto’s team coped with by springing into life themselves. But they’d had that luxury. This time a player fighting for their place would run out of chances far too quickly.

But Nakajima didn’t give up on him yet, allowing both to stay on, although his eyes were flicking to another of the Wing Spikers, another in his second year who was watching the game with his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face.

_One more chance, maybe?_

Kuroo moved to the backline to serve. Bokuto rotated to the vanguard, but not his alert self. It was as if all his sleepless night, not just the ones at college, had caught up with him.

_I know how you feel,_ Tooru thought, _but, come on, Bokkun. One more. Let’s pull this together._

He willed his lethargy to leave him. Pushing through his exhaustion, he prayed to whatever deity was watching that he could pull of one spectacular set to Bokuto, and that the Ace would slam down the spike showing his worth.

Kuroo’s serve shot through the opposing team. Hard and fast, it cut through the air like an arrow, and Tooru was sure it was an Ace. But he’d not counted on Yaku, who of everyone there was acclimatised to Kuroo’s serves. Once again, he received with calmness, gracefully flicking the ball to his Setter. The toss was off, and it was Sawamura stretching for it.

“GO ON, DAICHIIIII!” Suga yelled, not even bothering to hide his bias.

The spike was fast and powerful, Sawamura’s aim accurate, and although it was received, it ricocheted off the court, far from Tooru’s grasp. But he wasn’t giving up. Not when this could be his last chance, and charged off the court, desperate to keep the ball in play.

He got to it before it dropped, before it fell to the ground and ended his innings. And he had the position, he had the time.

He could do this, even as he fell to the floor, he knew he could make it.

His hand under the ball, he set a toss across the court. An impossible play. But he had a smile on his face, and inside he felt alive, awake and energetic.

“IWA- CHAN!”

The toss arced beautifully.  Bokuto was stuck, his eyes appearing glazed as everyone else watched the trajectory of the ball.

“Bokuto!” Kuroo roared, desperate to wake him up.

And it was falling too soon. Belatedly Bokuto shook himself, realised he was in a game and the ball was meant for him, and attempted a spike. It brushed the top of the net – an easy chance for the opposing blockers, but as one went to scoop it up, he misjudged it, and the ball skimmed his fingertips to fall to the floor.

A point for Nakajima’s team. Inelegant, unskilled, gained through errors. Still a point, but not one Tooru felt he could boast about.

“We’ll take points whichever way we can,” Nakajima yelled. He was grinning as he approached Tooru, his hand outstretched to help him up. “Bit reckless, Oikawa-kun, but well done. Take a break now.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Your knee’s grazed, and both you and Bokuto look shattered,” he ordered, and signalled for Bokuto to switch out.

“I am fine.”

“And I’m Captain. Go off,” Nakajima repeated, now sounding irritated.

_Shit!_

He didn’t get called back on, and neither did Bokuto. Satou had one more slot towards the end of the game, and managed not only to serve an ace, but sent a toss towards the  one of the second year’s who put it away with such strength the gym vibrated.

“Sorry,” Bokuto mumbled, when they trundled back to the changing room.

“Forget it,” Tooru replied, trying to sound as if it was of little consequence, but the fact was, they’d stuffed up several chances, and maybe, maybe, maybe, he shouldn’t have called on Bokuto so much. By thinking he could blast his way through Dejected Mode, Tooru had made him more hesitant and less able to react.

_And maybe blown our chances, together and individually._

“Who or what is Iwa-chan?”

He started, twisting around to see Satou behind him. “What?”

“You called out Iwa-chan on that last ... uh ... toss. Is it code for ‘reckless set that no one could ever get, not even the great Bokuto Koutarou?”

_Did I?_

He was smirking. It was the sort of smile Tooru recognised, one he used to unsettle opponents, and he knew the worst thing he could do was react and give Satou the advantage. Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t connecting with his mouth.

“Get lost.”

“You must teach me,” Satou continued. 

“Why? You can’t go back in time and get past the first round, Satou-chan,” Tooru retorted, not even sweetly.

“It looked like it was going to land on the adjacent court. Be useful if I was ever playing two games at once,” laughed Satou. “Keep it simple, Oikawa-kun. That’s the way we win matches.”

“Bringing out every spiker’s ability to one hundred percent, is the way we win,” Tooru retorted. “Predictable tosses, sets that are so easy to read a Middle Schooler could block you, are not.”

Satou stepped closer, his hands bundled into fists, chest touching Tooru’s. And although he knew this was a senpai, Tooru refused to back down, lifting his palms to place them flat on Satou’s chest. “Get away from me.”

“Break it up!” Nakajima stormed over. “Oikawa, get some sleep. Satou, move away.”

Picking up his bag, Tooru stormed out of the changing room, not bothering with the shower. Outside the air was stale, the heat of the July day unforgiving as he gulped at the air. He intended to go straight home, but as he rounded a corner, he came to a stop seeing Suga leaning against the wall, his blank expression turning to a scowl when he saw him.

_Oh gods, I really don’t want to be fighting with Koushi, too._

“Suga,” he began, trying a conciliatory smile. “I _am_ sorry about the other night. I really was a jerk, and didn’t think.”

“What!”

Okay that’s not good. “The other night, talking about Karasuno. And you’re right, I haven’t been a great friend and I should want the best for Iwa-chan. I over-reacted. I always do. And –” He swallowed. “Can we talk about this? I’ll buy you coffee or ramen, or –”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Suga, please.”

“Not yet, anyway. I need time, Oikawa. At the moment I’m too mad at you to think properly.”

“Because of Kageyama? Or what I said about Pinch Servers? Please, Suga-chan, it was heat of the moment and I am genuinely –”

_Genuine – HA!_ a voice in his head scoffed.

“No. It has nothing to do with that,” Suga retorted. “I knew you were being an asshole. You often are. I can deal with your dumb opinions.”

_Wow, remind me why I want to be friends with him?_

“Sorry to be such a problem,” Tooru spat back. “What else have I done to deserve your censure?”

“I _thought_ you knew how to keep your mouth shut!” Suga replied, then shot him a daggered look.

Tooru stared, mouth agape. “Huh?”

“Jeez, you’re either dense or in denial.”

“What?” he demanded.

“You told Daichi about Kato,” Suga yelled. “I specifically told you I didn’t want him knowing, until we found out what the police would do, but you had to open your mouth and tell him.”

“No.  N-no, it wasn’t  –”

“Oh please! Don’t attempt to deny it. How else could he have known?”

“I’m not denying it,” he replied, stung. “But you’re making it sound like I did this deliberately to cause trouble. Sawamura worked out that Kato and his friend attacked us.”

Suga’s face had blanched, and he was pressing his lips together. “Stop it!” he hissed, out of the side of his mouth.

“What. I’m not allowed to talk now. Have you asked Sawamura, or just yelled at him like you’re doing to me?”

But someone loomed towards them, and the reason for Suga’s contorted expression became clear. “Kato?” Bokuto muttered. “It was Kato, right?”

“Bokuto ...” Suga stretched out, trying to pluck on his sleeve, but he dodged him, cannoning into Tooru.

“Bokkun,” Tooru started, clutching him. “It’s –”

“I knew it,” Bokuto replied, his eyes hooded and dark. “I know you think I’m dumb, but I knew he musta done it. But you guys, what? Didn’t trust me?”

“We didn’t tell _anyone_ ,” Suga replied. “Please. It’s not worth messing up college and –”

Wrenching away, Bokuto glared at both of them. “Can’t let him get away with this, you know.”

“Bokuto, it’s ... PLEASE!” Suga yelled as Bokuto strode away. “Oh hell, we need to stop him.”

“What’s happened?” It was Kuroo, Sawamura and Yaku, clearly alerted by the shouting, now jogging out of the gym.

“You upset him. Just ‘cause he didn’t spike that toss?” Kuroo accused, rounding on Tooru.

“No. NO! Why is this always my fault?” Tooru shouted back. “He found out about Ka -  Oh forget it!”

“Kato,” Suga finished. “It was Kato at the bus stop along with –” He rolled his eyes, sighed then faced Kuroo and Yaku. “I guess you should know, but that guy from Nekoma was also there. Ando, or something?”

“That figures,” Yaku muttered. “He was always an easily-led asshole.”

“Kato,” Kuroo cut in. “And Bokuto knows, right.”

“Yes.” Suga grimaced. “Oikawa and I were ... uh ... arguing and –”

“I’m on my way,” Kuroo replied, and hitched his bag over his shoulder. “He can crash at ours, right?”

“I’ll come too,” Tooru offered. “He can stay at mine.

“I think seeing you will make it worse,” Kuroo stated. “He’s already bummed about practise and now this –” He started to walk off. “Go home, Oikawa. You too, Suga. I’ve got this.”

“Great,” Suga huffed. “My problem, and yet everyone else thinks they can sort it.”

“Suga,” Sawamura protested, and draped his arm over Suga’s shoulders. “We want to help.”

Suga rubbed his forehead. “Just leave me alone.” And shrugging Sawamura off, he strode away.

“Suga!” Sawamura called again. “I’ll come with you!”

“What, so you can protect me?” Suga shouted back. “Don’t you think I feel fucking weak enough without everyone wanting to be my bodyguard?”

“I’ll go,” Yaku murmured, tugging Daichi back.

And something in Sawamura’s face crumpled, even as he saw the sense in this. He nodded a little helplessly to Yaku, then watched as he tore after Suga, catching up with him and not getting rebuffed.

“It’s not that I think he’s weak,” Sawamura insisted. “It’s because I know he won’t stand down. If he runs into Kato, then he’s likely to confront him.”

“And that will out you both,” Tooru suggested, a little snarkily.

“No, it’s not that!” He shook his head. “Why am I even talking to you about this?”

“Oh, great, my fault again,” Tooru snapped. He knew it wasn’t wise, but tiredness wasn’t helping him hold his tongue. “And thank you so much for landing me in it telling him I’d told you about Kato!”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“That’s not how Koushi tells it.” He used the name deliberately, hoping to rile Sawamura.

And rile him it did, but he didn’t snap back or say a word. Sawamura glowered, turned on his heel and stomped off. Leaving Tooru talking to no one.

 

He wandered home, dry-eyed and trying not to think of how many bridges and boats he’d burnt in one afternoon. Perhaps Yaku and Fujita-san would continue to talk to him, but in the space of a few short minutes, he’d managed to upset Bokuto, Kuroo and Sawamura. The spat with Suga had developed into more of a brawl, and he’d managed to get on the wrong side not only of Satou (not that he was bothered by that) but his Captain.

The only person who’d treated him at all kindly, he thought, had been Takahisho. But now the sensei had made his point, it was clear Tooru had suffered from the fallout, the energy expended on getting the assignment in early had left him spent.

And it was a measure of how different his life was here because back in Miyagi, at Seijou, the spats with Iwa-chan, with Mattsun and with Makki had been frequent, especially when stressed, but he’d known the air would clear, that he would text an apology, or receive one, and then they’d be back to normal.

But nothing was normal now, the thundering silence from his old friends affecting him more now no one was there to fill the void.

He reached his apartment, kicked off his shoes (not even bothering to straighten them) and slumped on the sofa.

_Hoshiyo,_ he thought. _She’ll listen._

But just as he started to tap out her number, his phone rang. An unknown number

“Hey,” said the voice. Familiar, so familiar.

And although it was welcome (so welcome) his insides still sunk when it wasn’t the one he _longed_ for.

“Makki? Is that you?”

“Yeah, I’m on a landline.” His voice was thick. Hesitant. As if it had taken him a while to summon the urgency to call, not knowing if this were really a good idea. “Oikawa-kun, can I talk to you?”

It was unlike Makki to call, which meant it must be serious. The rows with the others fled his mind, for this was a friend, a true friend, a long-standing friend, and Makki sounded ... haunted.

“Of course you can,” Tooru murmured. “What’s the matter, Taka?”

“It’s Issei,” Makki replied miserably. “I’ve really fucked things up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, it's honestly much appreciated. The eagle eyed among you might have noticed I keep changing the number of chapters. I am so close to finishing (currently writing ch 43) but there are some sub-plots that need finishing up.


	34. Senpai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what is wrong with Makki and Mattsun ... you'll find out now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like the end of this chapter. Iwa-chan's going to feel a little happier in himself.

“You’ve joined the fucking Geezers team!” Mattsun bellowed out his laugh, wiping a grease-stained hand down his overalls. “What the fuck!”

“Hey, they’re pretty good!” Hajime protested.

“You must bring the average age down to ... what ... sixty five!”

“They’re all in their twenties, actually smart-arse,” Hajime chipped. “And pretty strong.” He rolled his shoulders still feeling the impact from the night before. “And I didn’t say I’d joined. Just wanted a workout.”

Mattsun pulled his face straight, put a wrench back in the toolbox and sat on the garage floor. “And how was it?”

“It was good,” he replied, and grinned. “Knee held up, and I was leaping around. Got some spikes in. Oh, and remember Karasuno’s Ace?”

“The beardie?”

“Yup. You know how we thought he was some kind of delinquent?”

“Kept down a year or five, yeah.”

“He’s our age!”

“And not at college?”

“Nope, working for his uncle, or something.”  He pulled out a bag, handing over a burger to Mattsun then unwrapping his own. “Got you extra gherkins.”

“Cheers.” He took a large bite and they chewed in companionable silence for a while. “So, why were you so desperate to see me?”

“I’m not.”

“C’mon, get it over with!” Mattsun sighed. “What’s happened now?”

“Really, nothing.”  He gnawed on his lip, trying to work out how to broach this because Mattsun was grinning now and not at all withdrawn. “You okay?”

“Me? Sure.” He plucked some chips from the carton. “Now we’ve got that out the way, tell me why you’re here.”

Prevarication, right. And when he thought about it, how many times had Mattsun ever opened up to him?

“Do you like working here?” Hajime tried a different tack.

“What’s brought this on?”

“Would you have wanted to go to college, or do something else? Did you have a choice?”

“I like cars. I like driving and I think I make a pretty good salesman, so if Dad didn’t have this business, I would have gone elsewhere.”

So it wasn’t that.

“And volleyball?”

“High school fun. Okay, it was a lot more intense than that, but I was never Oikawa’s class.”

“Do you miss playing?”

“Don’t have enough time to miss anything. Have you finished the game?”

“Huh?”

“Twenty questions, only this is getting boring.” He faked a yawn.

“Dunno what you mean.”

“Spill, Iwaizumi, but, I really haven’t heard from Oikawa, so can’t help you with that.” He bit into his burger, chewing fast.

“Issei,” Hajime said quietly. “What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing because you’re not happy about something, and -”

He broke off, wondering where to go with this. _Keep going,_ a voice said _, hit it ‘til it breaks._

“I’ve been a shit friend,” he said at last. “I’ve moaned and moaned about _him_ , and Karasuno and you’ve stuck by me, so –”

Mattsun was staring at him, his mouth torn between smiling and drooping, and he had the sort of expression he’d worn on court when he’d worked out the course of a spike and the best way to block it.

But Hajime ploughed on, seeking a way to batter through this most implacable of walls. “You’ve been here for me a lot this term – you and Makki – and I’ve –”

“He’s leaving.” The wall crumpled.

“What?”

“Taka’s leaving.”

“Leaving where? Have you split up?” Fuck! That explained a few things.

“No. He’s – It’s his placement.”

“The one where he doesn’t want to work in a sushi bar,” Hajime remembered.

“Well, he won’t be. His tutor’s suggested he applies abroad.”

“That’s for next year, isn’t it?”

Mattsun nodded. “It’s a great opportunity,” he said dully, “and I’m pleased for him.”

Snippets of conversation from the day of the final wisped back to him. Makki saying he had to put work in, talk of a placement he was eager to get, and Mattsun speeding up, no longer wanting to listen.

“’Course,” Hajime agreed. “I guess that means, if he wants to go abroad, then he’s gotta focus on ... uh ... non sushi-bar food. But ... you know ... it’s a way off. You’ve got months ‘til he goes.”

“Yeah, I know.” He blinked. “But we were planning on going on a road trip over summer. Nothing flash, but – you know – time together. But now he’s applied for a job in Sendai in his holidays. Some fancy-ass Italian, so the trip’s off.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mattsun replied. He glanced over, raising one eyebrow. “You’re a good mate, but when you’re pre-occupied you’re kinda oblivious.”

“Yeah, sorry. But, look, I’m here now.”

“Cool, but it’s okay. There’s not much I can do about it. Just gotta get on with it. Taka says he’s _postponing_ the trip, that’s all.” He slurped some coke, wiping the froth moustache with his sleeve, and they sat again in silence.

 “You know what our trouble is, Iwaizumi?” Mattsun said, breaking the quiet.

“What?”

“We didn’t have a life outside of volleyball. Like, the four of us mixed socially, too, and now we’re apart, it’s ...” He sighed. “Is hanging out with me on a Saturday really the best you can do?”

“Hey, this is good. You’re my mate.”

“And when you get to Tokyo, then what?”

“How long have you got to stay here for?” Hajime asked. “This afternoon, I mean.”

If Mattsun noticed the change of subject, he said nothing, but quirked another smile across at Hajime. “Ah, I kind of lied. I can quit when I want. Dad doesn’t mind. Why?”

“That Geezers’ team need a Middle Blocker. What d’you say?”

“Karasuno Neighbourhood.” Mattsun snorted. “Might have escaped your notice, but I never went to Karasuno.”

“Don’t think that matters. I’m not saying join the team, but could be fun teaming up again.”

Snorting, Mattsun finished his coke. “My point that we had no life outside volleyball was lost on you, wasn’t it, Iwaizumi?”

He leant back against the wall, and flashed Mattsun a side-glance. “And knowing that now, would you have changed a thing?”

“Nope, guess not.”

Their eyes met, and Mattsun took a breath. “Would you have got together with ... uh ... Oikawa if you’d known what would happen?”

Closing his eyes, Hajime felt the bricks against his scalp. He could see Oikawa so clearly at times; usually the image was one of him on court and laughing, or with that expression of intense concentration before he served. But right then, the picture was a memory of a sleepover. For once Hajime had woken first and he’d looked across at the sleeping boy next to him, marvelling at the angles of his face, and how happy he looked in repose, how genuinely content. Sixteen years old, and he’d wanted to reach out and touch Oikawa’s cheek to see if that faint blush would heighten under his fingertips.

But he hadn’t dared, knowing that above all it was their friendship that was important and not the feelings that had only recently swirled around his chest.

“Sorry. It’s an impossible question,” Mattsun murmured. He sniffed. “I know it’s likely I’ll lose Taka, but I think it’s better we’ve had this time together than none at all.”

“You don’t know you’ve lost him,” Hajime replied, still not opening his eyes, but the picture of Oikawa had faded away. “And ... I don’t know. If we’d stayed only as friends, then I still don’t think he’d have forgiven me for going to Karasuno – not the way he feels about Kageyama.”

“And you knew that,” Mattsun said.

“Huh?”

He’d edged closer, and his eyes, normally mocking eyes were piercing into Hajime’s. “You knew it was the one thing that would piss him off, and yeah, it’s fucking childish, but ... why did you go there?”

“Best option,” Hajime said quickly, and it wasn’t quite a lie. “’Specially with the move and stuff.”

“If you say so. “Mattsun yawned, stretched and then levered himself up to his feet. “Let me wash some of this grease off, and then we can go.”

“Where?”

“Thought these geezers needed a Middle-Blocker?”

And Hajime felt the corner of his mouth quirk. “They won’t be playing now! They have jobs and stuff like proper grown-ups.”

“Yeah, but I need the practise.” Mattsun replied and grinned. “C’mon, let’s go to Li’l Tykes. We could take the Chibis.”

“One’s still in plaster, so that won’t go down well.”

“Ah, I forgot. We could crash Seijou?”

“Like I’ll be welcome there!”

“And I’m guessing Karasuno’s out.”

Hajime nodded. “Michimiya-san, their new coach, needs time to settle in, so I better not keep turning up.”

“You miss it?”

He considered. “Yeah, I do actually. My lunch hour’s going to be totally boring now. Might get better acquainted with the library.”

“Or you could join –”

“DON’T!”

“Hey, I was gonna say the film club. You can make them watch all those shitty Godzilla films you like so much!”

“Really?” He frowned then finished his burger in one bite, screwing up the wrapper in his fist.

“What about that newspaper thing? Can’t you hang out with them?”

“You sound like my mum when I first started Elementary School. She always tried to get me to join things.”

“And you didn’t?”

Hajime grinned at the memory. “I liked bugs and beetles and chasing after insects with my net, and didn’t want to be in a club when I could be running around. I didn’t really join things until my second year.”

“Which was ...?”

It was a wry smile. “I’d met Oikawa by then, so what do you think?”

“C’mon,” Mattsun said, letting out a sigh and getting to his feet. “Let’s go run round a court somewhere. You can bring a net, if you want.”

 

They did end up at Little Tykes. Saturday afternoon, and it was crowded mainly with kids having group lessons.

“Isn’t that Saburo?” Mattsun said, pointing to one bigger group.

“Yeah, it is,” Hajime replied. Screwing up his eyes, he scanned the sidelines, but there was no sign of his parents or Koji.

“Does he still play Wing Spiker?”

“Usually. His aim’s improving and ...” Hajime trailed off. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Who ‘who’ is?” Mattsun teased, but he put a hand over his brow shielding his eyes from the sun so he could get a better look. “Where are we looking now?”

“Over there ... yeah it is!”

“Got him! Yup, that’s Mad-Dog.”

“Wonder who he’s watching?”

“Hasn’t he got brother?”

Hajime pondered. Now he thought about it, Oikawa had mentioned Kyoutani’s family. He’d made it a point of principle to research not just opponents but team members too, and when Mad-Dog had gone missing from the team, he’d wondered if it were family trouble.

“No, kid sister, I think. Maybe she’s taken up volleyball.”

They started to stroll again, making their way across to an empty court. It was smaller, and one he’d often booked to use with Oikawa and the others on the days the Seijou gym was closed, or out of hours. And he was quite surprised to see it free now. But then as they approached, Mattsun bouncing their ball on the ground, he understood the reason for it being empty.

And could be why Kyoutani was no longer in the stands but moving towards them, his hands in his pockets.

It was reserved, and the four players currently pulling on sneakers and taking off training jackets were four players he knew very well.

“Ah, it’s not free then.” Hajime said, hesitating

“Yeah,” Mattsun agreed. “But it’s not official, so I’m sure they won’t –” He broke off, raising his hand when he saw they’d been spotted ad shouted. “YO! Yahaba-kun, any chance some old-timers can have a workout.”

“They won’t want me there.”

“You sure about that. You were texting them after the semi, Yahaba told me that.”

“Yeah, it’s different. That was senpai stuff. This is ... Look, Kindaichi won’t be happy I’m here, at all!”

“Kindaichi’s issue was with Kageyama, same with Kunimi,” Mattsun reasoned. “It’s only you that’s thinking this is a problem. Look at them now.”

Hajime stared, noting how respectfully Kindaichi was standing, and with his toes turned a little inwards, his hands clasped in front of him. Kunimi was slouching (when didn’t he?) but there was the tiniest of smiles on his face, lighting his expression from bored neutrality to flickering interest. And now he thought about it, the fact of Kunimi actually being there was new. He’d skipped any extra practises unless Oikawa had made a point of persuading him.

Yahaba was nodding before he consulted the others. But any opposition Hajime thought they’d receive was quickly nullified when Watari raised his hand too.

“Senpais!” he shouted, and smiled widely. “It would be an honour. We need to be kept on our toes.”

“Well, I’m as rusty as the cars I tinker with, and this former Ace has only practised once, so go easy on us, will you?” Mattsun replied.

“Why are you here?” Hajime asked.

“Kentarou had to bring his sister to her class, so we said we’d meet him here,” Yahaba replied. “Thought we might as well book a court.”

“Just the four of you? No first years?”

“We’ll see them later. _This_ isn’t compulsory,” Yahaba replied and began to walk towards them. His smile was wide, but it was stretched thin, and Hajime remembered clearly Oikawa’s first few months as Captain with the strain it caused.

He’d reached them now.

“Things okay?” Hajime asked quietly.

“Yes, just felt it was important to ... um ... be here. Team meshing is harder than I thought.”

“Worried he won’t stick around?”

“Um...”

Remembering that match and Kyoutani’s despair, Hajime clapped a hand on Yahaba’s shoulder. “Think he’s here for the long term. You don’t get that upset if you’re going to quit.”

“It broke his heart,” Yahaba said miserably. “And he’s been late to a few sessions. I’m hoping this will help.”

And his eyes flickered to the right, and out of the corner of his eye, Hajime saw the stockier figure of Kyoutani striding their way. He was scowling, but whether that was his natural expression or the result of seeing the newcomers, Hajime had no idea.

Mattsun was snorting his shoulders jiggling up and down. “He reminds me so much of someone,” he laughed.

“Huh?”

“Must be an Ace thing, eh, Yahaba-kun? Hey, Kyoutani, reckon you can get a spike past me?”

Yahaba sniffed and smiled again – genuinely.

“He’s not stormed off,” Hajime muttered. “I think your instincts are right, and you need to accommodate him for a while. Good job getting Kunimi-kun here, too.”

“Oh that. He’s upped his effort since the Inter Highs, although actually it was before then. That training camp he did with the others from Miyagi. Kindaichi came back all fire and enthusiasm, so it was hard to tell what Kunimi thought, but ... well ... it was like Oikawa-san said, he burns differently.”

“Why are they here?”

“And it’s good to see you, too,” Mattsun laughed at Kyoutani.

“Coincidence,” Hajime replied swiftly, “and look, if none of you want us here, then we’ll go. But this beanpole needed a workout and I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Thought you were coaching now, Iwaizumi-san?” Watari asked, joining them.

“Was. Got to knuckle down and work on my grades. None of you have quit then?”

“No chance,” Yahaba put in. “We’re going to win Spring High!”

“And we’re okay to stay?” Mattsun asked, taking them all in. “Only Iwaizumi here thinks you think he’s a spy.”

As the others fidgeted, not quite meeting Hajime’s eyes, Watari grinned. “What could Iwaizumi-san possibly tell Karasuno what they don’t already know? We’re awesome.”

“AND WE’LL WHOOP THEIR ASSES!” Kindaichi yelled.

“That’s the Seijou spirit!” Mattsun crowed.  He started to warm up, circling his arms and stretching out his long legs. “So, who’s on which side? Middle blockers against Wing-Spikers? What helps you best, Yahaba?”

In the end, Yahaba decided on a rotational practise, two on two before subbing off and on other sides of the court. Watari was used as both a Setter and a Libero, while Kunimi practised jump float serves, aiming them at Kyoutani in particular. Having not played recently, Mattsun was out of breath the earliest, and his eye wasn’t as sharp, but his blocks were strong, and on the occasions he was alongside Kindaichi, Hajime saw him muttering encouragement, and flexing his fingers to prevent any of the opposition’s spikes.

When on with Kyoutani, Hajime felt an increasing pressure, and was surprised it had come from himself. He’d never lost to the future ace, never lost anything, and Kyoutani knew that, expending more energy and going for every ball even the ones that Hajime had a better chance of spiking.

“Hey!” he yelled, when Kyoutani had recklessly stuck his hand out and affected the trajectory of the ball so it slammed into the net. “That was mine, so cut it out!”

“Kentarou!” Yahaba called out.

“I’m not switching out! I’m in my rhythm now!”

“Other side of the court. Kunimi swap so you’re with Iwaizumi-san.”

They swapped, Kunimi’s expression barely changing, Kyoutani pink-faced looking as if he’d bite anyone who approached.

“Feints,” Hajime murmured. “They drive Kyoutani nuts, but Mattsun will expect them from you.”

And then it became a match. Yahaba joined Kyoutani to set, leaving Watari to join Hajime. Kindaichi stayed on the sides, waiting to be called on, but such was the intensity of the game, Yahaba pushing Kyoutani to score from every angle, he was stuck watching for a while.

With the highest of leaps, his back snapping into action, Kyoutani thundered a spike over the net. He was limber and strong, the angle acute, but Hajime leapt for it, reaching out with his arm to stop it dropping and power it back to Kunimi. As he landed, his shoe scuffed a grass knot and he stumbled to the ground. His cry of frustration was tempered by Kunimi tipping the ball over with the softest of feints for a point. He watched on, glorying in Kyoutani stretching out for all he was worth but unable to get even a fingertip to Kunimi’s spike.

“SHIT ARE YOU OKAY!” Watari had run to him. Yahaba had stopped the game, and Kyoutani the ball in his hand was staring through the net, glassy eyed.

“Me?”

“Yeah, dumbass, you,” Mattsun said, his voice a little wobbly. “You twisted and as you’ve not got up yet we kind of ... wondered.”

“Uh.” He stretched his legs out, his knee was fine, his ankle twinged but it was nothing. “Uh, sorry guys, I was watching the shot. Got a bit carried away,” he said and ruefully smiled as he got to his feet. “Well done, Kunimi-kun. You’ve got cleverer, if that’s possible. Kyoutani, JEEZ, you’re super fit.”

Yahaba clapped his hands together, and although his voice wasn’t as commanding, there was a hint of Oikawa there. “We’ll take a break for now. Maybe practise serves.”

Sitting on the sides, letting the sun wash over him as he slurped at his water, Hajime watched the serve drill, Watari receiving each one with aplomb. There was no doubt he was good, but it showed everyone’s serves had to improve. Without Oikawa, without Hajime, there was only one person who came close to pulling off a series of aces, and he still needed careful handling.

“You are okay, aren’t you? You didn’t jolt your knee?”

“I’m fine,” he told Mattsun. “Fucking unfit though.”

“Tell me about it.” Mattsun lay down stretching his limbs under the sun. “This has been fun, thanks.”

“Any time.” He closed his eyes, the heat of the day warming his skin. “You could join the Geezers’ team, y’know?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Might stop you brooding over Taka.”

“Is that why you went?” Mattsun chided, but softly.

“NIISAN!”

Hajime wasn’t sure if he was grateful to Saburo at that point, or annoyed because he had no chance to refute the question. Saburo was speeding towards him, hands stiff and flat as he pumped his arms and legs powering towards them.

“Where does that kid get his energy,” Mattsun groaned. “Jeez, he’s as fast as the wind.”

“Zephyrus,” Hajime murmured, and swallowed down the well of memories, calling out, “Sab, hey there!”

“Are you picking me up? Only I’m booked for another session.”

“Nope, came here by accident,” Hajime explained. He grabbed Saburo’s arm pulling him to the ground. “How was practise?”

“S’good. I played Middle-Blocker.”

“GOOD BOY!” Mattsun laughed. “You’ll need to be extra tall, Sabu-chan, like me and Kindaichi over there.”

“Whoa.” Saburo’s eyes took in Kindaichi, whose hair made him appear even taller. “Not sure I’ll get that tall.”

“I’ll stretch you,” Mattsun said, and grabbed his legs. “Hajime can pull your arms and –”

“NOOOOOOO!” Saburo squealed and wrenched away, hiding behind Hajime. “Didn’t you tell me there was a really short Middle-Blocker? Maybe I could be like him.”

“Be a Wing Spiker. We’re cooler,” Hajime replied. “Isn’t that so, Kunimi-kun?”

“Huh?”He was immersed in his phone, barely registering the question.

“Kyoutani,” Hajime tried. “Wing Spikers are cool, right?”

“Sure.” He was sharp, looking furious at the question, but then he caught sight of Saburo and his scowl lessened. “This your brother?”

“One of them.”

“Koji or Saburo?”

_Wow, he knows. How ..._

“Iwaizumi Saburo!” Saburo replied and stood up to give Kyoutani a bow. “I saw that last spike of yours. It was really cool.”

“Your brother saved it.” His tone was blunt. 

“But it was a great angle. How do you get that high when you jump?”

But Kyoutani had lost interest, looking over Saburo’s head, and Hajime felt irritation at the guy, because sure he was a loner, but Sab was kid and not one that often opened up to strangers.

“Kyoutani!”

“What?” He blinked. “Sorry, Iwaizumi-san, I was looking at ...” He lifted his hand, waving across the field. “My sister was looking for me.” Shaking his head, he switched back to Saburo. “I used to do a lot of trampolining, and gymnastic type stuff, so maybe that’s why.”

“Did you?” Mattsun blinked. “We did _not_ know that about you.”

“No one asked,” he said bluntly. “Machiko, over here!” And then, as his sister bounded towards them, he smirked. “Oikawa-san would have made the Coach buy a trampoline if he’d known.”

“Now that could be a great training tool,” Yahaba butted in, his eyes wide.

“Fu-” He stopped the curse word, mindful of Saburo and his sister, Hajime thought. “Hell, he’s started.”

“Nii-san!” the girl yelled, charging up to them. “Is it time to go yet?”

“Yep.”

“Can I have a gari-gari first? Mum gave me some money.”

“’K. I’ll finish up here and meet you at the kiosk.”

“K!” She beamed up at him, then waved to Yahaba and Watari, giving stiff bows to the others.

“I have to go,” Kyoutani explained.

“Can _I_ have a popsicle?” Saburo asked.

“Uh, guess so.”

“I don’t have money.”

“Tough then.” But Hajime grinned., “Come on, I don’t have change but I can buy one.”

Wandering across with Saburo, he was surprised that Kyoutani slowed his pace, thinking he’d imagined it.

“Take this. I’ll catch you up, Sab.”

Kyoutani had come to a stop, hands in his pockets and still frowning, but it was more thoughtful and not in anger.

“Iwaizumi-san,” he muttered.

“Mmm?”

“You are fit, yeah? Your knee is ... it’s okay, right?”

“I tripped back then. It’s fine.”

“But it’s healed after the accident, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought you might be playing for Karasuno.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Oh.” He shrugged, but didn’t question further. “Shame.”

“Why?”

His lips actually twitched, and after Hajime wondered if it were the first time he’d ever heard anything humorous from Kyoutani’s mouth. “I wanna beat you, Iwaizumi-senpai. Doubt I’ll get to some fancy Tokyo college, so this would have been my only chance.”

“It’s six against six, Mad-Dog, you know that.”

He didn’t pull a face at the nickname, but inhaled sharply then started to walk again across the grass and towards his sister. Saburo was at the kiosk now, checking the board to see what they had.

“But Ace’s have that responsibility, don’t they,” Kyoutani answered, a statement of fact rather than a question.

“Can’t shoulder everything, Kyoutani. Not even Atlas was strong enough for that.”

“Huh?”

“From Greek mythology, he took the world on his shoulders,” Hajime explained with patience.

“Yeah, and he held it well,” Kyoutani replied, and strode away. “Heracles barely lasted a day.”

 

Finishing with a soda, Hajime and Mattsun walked back together. It had been a good afternoon, light-hearted enough that each could forget their respective woes for a while. And the warmth of the day, even as the heat from the sun began to wane, still curled around their hearts.

“Good to see them again,” Mattsun sighed.

“You could help coach.”

“Too soon. I’d want to play. But a few years down the line, who knows.” He laughed, sounding self-deprecating. “Wonder if they’d insist on a fancy-ass college education to coach.”

“You always had a good eye,” Hajime replied. “You’d have to keep your hand in though ...”

“Play you mean? For the Geezers.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yup.” Mattsun finished off his soda, dropping the bottle into a nearby bin and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “You helped them today.”

“Did I?”

“Think about it, when was the last time they saw you play?”

_The practise match._ He could almost feel his knee throb at the memory.

“Ahh, right.”

Mattsun slowed right down, coming to a stop on a street corner, the fork in the road leading one way to his house, and the other to Hajime’s. “When that match finished,” he explained. “Oikawa ran straight to the hospital. Didn’t change but left right away. And the rest of us were stranded not knowing anything.”

He could still remember the pain, not just from the injury but the knowledge he was fucked, that he’d gone for an impossible ball out of fury, not warmed up properly, and that now it was gone, all gone, and –

“After that match, even though we’d won, Kyoutani lashed out,” Mattsun continued. “He was punching walls and kicking the lockers. I was gonna sort him out, but Yahaba took him outside to calm him down. I can still see him kicking a tree, pounding it with his fists and then roaring around one of the football pitches.

“Kindaichi cried – poor kid. He’d seen his senpais fall out, one refusing to come on, and then the other too badly injured to play. Watari – well, you know what he’s like – he fretted, but tried to make small talk. He was texting Oikawa for any news.”

Mattsun took a long breath, letting it hiss out between his teeth.

“It was Kunimi that I remember most. He was silent. I mean he always is, but he usually got his phone out, or something. But he changed into normal clothes, and then sat on the bench. I guess he was waiting for Kindaichi, but he didn’t look at anyone, just stared at his feet. I don’t think he moved for a solid fifteen minutes. Taka sat next to him in case he wanted to talk, but it was like he couldn’t hear him, or see anyone else.”

“Sorry.” It was inadequate, and Hajime didn’t even think it was the right thing to say, but for the first time he was picturing something about that day that wasn’t only about his pain, his mother’s tears, his father’s stoicism and ... and ... Oikawa’s vigil.

“None of us knew if you’d play again. Much as I hated myself, I went home after that and started looking up injuries. So ... today’s been good, not just for us two, okay?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, you wouldn’t. No one wanted you to know how worried we all were, but ... yeah ... there it is.” He paused and kicked a pebble across the pavement. “Those kids all respected and admired you, Hajime; you do know that, don’t you?”

“I was their Vice Captain, so they had to,” he mumbled, aware his face was aflame.

He shook his head. “It went further than respecting you because of your status. It wasn’t just a senpai kouhai thing either. You made a difference – especially to Mad-Dog – and –” Another breath. “That won’t change if you’re wearing a different colour shirt on the opposite side of the net.”

 


	35. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru gets some good advice ... wonder if he'll take it.

In an odd way, being the recipient of someone else’s problems had lightened Tooru’s gloom. It wasn’t that he felt happy, but Makki calling him had ignited that love he had of being at the centre of things. Being wanted.

That and he now had something else to concentrate on, rather than focusing on the disastrous last few days in Tokyo. No, weeks, now he thought about it, the downward spiral starting when Kato had attacked. _Or was it earlier, when I failed to return to Miyagi?_

“You have to do what’s right for you, Makki,” he soothed during another call. “Mattsun does understand that.”

“I know he does, but ...” Makki’s sigh turned to a groan. “He’s being really nice about it, you know?”

“Nice?” Tooru pursed his lips and flopped into the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s ... um ... good, isn’t it?” he asked, trying to sound positive.

“ _No_ , he’s usually snarky and mocking!”

_True, that._

“I know he’s pissed that I can’t go away now, yet he’s being great about it. But whenever I say I’ll still be around, he just goes ... quiet.”

“You will work it out,” Tooru reassured him. “Call him. Go and spend the weekend with him and make sure he knows how sorry you are.”

“He _says_ he’s busy. And yeah, we’re talking, but like I said he’s being _nice_.”

He was silent for a while. Tooru, hearing his steadier breaths, began to speak. “Maybe it’s because he can see you’re getting on with things. Perhaps he thinks you’re moving on.”

“Well, I am, but it doesn’t mean I’m moving without him.”

“But when you’re away, he’ll be in Miyagi. Perhaps that’s bothering him. I know he said he didn’t want to go to college, but it’s possible he’s feeling – I don’t know – left out?”

“Shit, you’re right. I should go on the trip. I had said I would.”

“Hmm, but if you do that, do you think Mattsun will accept it?” Tooru asked. “It’s not as if you’re ending it. And he’s always known that you’d be working away in your second year.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t really talk about it being abroad.” He sniffled for a while. “Anyway, how are things with you?”

“Me? Oh, things are good,” Tooru lied. “Busy with practice, and end of term assignments.”

“You’ve got a tournament coming up, haven’t you? Heard you might come up against Ushiwaka again.”

He sat up, frowning. “How do you know about that?”

“Kid from Karasuno told us,” Makki replied. “Don’t get mad, it wasn’t your ‘adorable’ kouhai!”

“I’m not mad, only curious. Who told you?”

“Kinoshita. He’s a pinch server in third year. We never saw him play. Anyway, we were at this year’s final, and he was talking about your tournament. Said Sugawara had mentioned it.”

“Oh, I see... Why were you with him?”

“He was with Iwaizumi. They’re collaborating on something,” Makki replied. “Did you know he’s writing stuff now for their school newspaper?”

“Yes. I ... Suga showed me something.”

_Kinoshita. Kinoshita? Oh, the photographer._

“And ... um ... he’s coaching?” Tooru continued, hoping he came across as casual. “Suga mentioned it was his sister’s team. Is that right?”

“Ah, yeah. She’s sweet,” Makki said, sounding vague. “I met her during Golden Week. She got on well with the Chibis.”

What was this twinge now? _I will ignore_. But there was a constriction in his chest and he couldn’t get the next words out without a rasp. “I have been in touch, you know, since his birthday. I’ve said sorry over and over, but he’s not replied.”

Another silence, and then Makki sighed once again. “Look, I’ll tell you this, because, to be honest, I don’t really get what’s going on and why Hajime’s being so stubborn, but he’s got a different phone now. He’s not exactly ignoring you, Oikawa; he hasn’t got your messages.”

“But -” Tooru shook his head. He’d sent a package and that _had_ been ignored. Even Iwa-chan’s brothers hadn’t been in touch. The thought that they were snubbing him, or even worse that Hajime was keeping the gifts from them, chilled him to his marrow. “Will you give me his number?”

“I _could,_ but he knows yours so I reckon he’ll be in touch when he gets over whatever’s going on in his head. You know what he’s like. He’ll dig his heels in more.”

He saw the logic. Sort of. “Okay. It’s not him, though, Makki. I should have come to his birthday. And I’ve overreacted about _everything_.”

“Yeah,” Makki chuckled. “But what’s new, Captain? Anyway, thanks for letting me ramble on. I’ll see if I can get to Issei’s tomorrow.”

“No, thank you,” Tooru demurred. “It’s good to talk to you, Makki. I do miss this, you know?”

“You miss Iwa-chan,” Makki said, and Tooru could practically see his arched eyebrow.

And he did miss Iwa-chan the most, but it was more than that. It was school, and sunshine days looking forward to a shared future.

“Yes,” he said at last, “but I miss the four of us, and Seijou, and how easy it all was when the only thing we cared about was slamming that ball over the net.”

“We all have to grow up,” Makki replied. “But yeah, it fucking sucks.”

***

Kuroo’s friend, the computer genius, turned out to be the Setter from Nekoma that Tooru had last seen through a net. He looked much the same, lethargic demeanour, and badly dyed hair although that seemed to be more black than blond now. He didn’t raise a hand or bow, either, but shrugged himself further into his jacket, his eyes on the ground as Kuroo made the introductions.

“Would you like a drink, Kozume-chan?” he said, as he led him into the kitchen.

“It’s Kozume,” Kuroo answered, “and he brought stuff.”

He yawned, and unpacked the rucksack, pulling out a laptop, two bottles of water and a bag of bananas.

“Where’s _your_ laptop?” Kozume asked, his voice gruff. “Have you tried powering it up?”

“It’s definitely not working. I think it fused. Can you bring it back from the dead?”

“Prob’ly not.” He cleared his throat, but it made no discernible difference. “I c’n maybe save your data.”

“Maybe?”

“Might be corrupted,” Kozume supplied. “I c’n upload anything I save to your new laptop.”

“That would be brilliant.”

“You bought one yet?”

“Yes. I’ve charged the battery but that’s about it.”

“’K.”

“That’s Kenma talk for ‘Leave me alone now and I’ll get on with it,” Kuroo supplied with a soft chuckle.

“Are you staying?”

Kuroo nodded, adding, “If that’s okay.”

“’Course. Coffee?”

“Nah, I’m cool. Shall we leave the geek alone?”

Sloping into the living room, Tooru handed Kuroo the remote. He flicked through a few channels, settling on a sports channel, but didn’t seem that interested and picked up a magazine instead.

“How are things back at the apartment?” asked Tooru.

A beat.

“Quiet.”

“Is that good?”

“Who knows?” came the blunt reply.

“Thank you for coming and getting Kozume to help me,” Tooru began again.

“I said I would,” Kuroo drawled, then relented. “Kenma likes doing stuff like that.”

“And ... uh ... I’m sorry about the other day, after practise and all that.”

Kuroo unbent a little. “’S’fine. We all lose it at times.”

“You weren’t at practise yesterday, or the day before.”

Kuroo yawned. “Pulled a double shift.” He smiled as he lay back against the plush cushions on Tooru’s sofa. “Not all of us live rent free.”

“I do know I’m lucky,” Tooru said, keeping the snap out of his voice. “Aren’t you worried that working so much will impact on your studies and ... uh ... well, studies, I mean?”

“You were going to say volleyball, weren’t you?” He sighed. “There weren’t sports scholarship places available for medicine. I’m paying full whack and ... well, my mum doesn’t earn a fortune and my dad is kinda shit, so it’s up to me.”

“You’re from Tokyo, though, so couldn’t you have lived at home?”

“Coulda done, but I don’t like my mum’s boyfriend much, Yaku wanted to live out, and then Sawamura and Suga had found the apartment and wanted flatmates, so it kinda seemed logical. It’s cheaper than Halls.”

_Okay, bite the bullet and ask._  “How is Suga?”

“Quiet.”

“Good quiet or bad quiet.”

“Preferred it when he was yelling, to be honest,” Kuroo confessed. “Got his head in his books. He hasn’t heard from the police yet.”

“Ah.” Tooru suspected that wasn’t good news, and his mood plummeted further. “And Bokuto?”

Bokuto hadn’t said much to him after the practise match. He’d turned up to the gym, worked hard on serves (with varying degrees of success, it had to be said) and partnered up wherever he was told. He’d played alongside Tooru, not cold-shouldering him in the slightest, but his enthusiasm had waned. It was a harder Bokuto Koutarou, but with less spark. Lethargic, too.

“He crashed at ours for two nights,” Kuroo explained. “I went to his hall with him to collect some stuff. He’s made up with Suga.”

_But not me._

“Where is he now? I’d like the chance to speak to him.”

“Gone home for the weekend. It’s his kid sister’s birthday. He ... uh ... he’s not happy.”

“Because of me? Because Suga and I didn’t say anything?”

“Maybe. I dunno. Look, I’ve known the guy for three four years, on and off, and we get on great, but you know how it is. We talk about the sport and not much else. He’s not academic. His place here is because he’s a top three Ace. And that Spring High – hooo boy, he was brilliant. He could have chosen anywhere, but he likes Tokyo, and didn’t want to be too far from home.”

“Shirofuku-kun said he liked being liked.”

“Yeah, she could be right. We kind of think of him as this oblivious lug, only concerned with volleyball, but he’s aware – hyper aware – unless he’s right in the zone, of what people think of him.” He paused. “Think it’s more like he wants to be ‘known’. He was this big fish –”

“But now it’s not just a bigger pond, but an ocean,” Tooru muttered.

“Very poetic,” Kuroo mocked, but gently.

Kenma was hovering in the doorway.  “Your phone buzzed, Oikawa-san,” he mumbled, holding it out and revealing a band on his wrist of red and black twisted threads. “A few times.”

“Thank you, Kozume-ch- ... Er, how’s it going in there?”

“Too early to tell.” He backed away and into the kitchen, leaving the phone on the arm of the chair.

The messages had stacked up, short and brisk, all from the same person.

**[Hey, what’s this about you not coming home?]**

**[Are you there?]**

**[Tooru!!]**

**[UGHH! Bet you’re at practice.]**

**[Tooru, dumbass, Mum says you’re not coming back for your birthday.]**

“Important?” Kuroo asked.

“My sister. Excuse me, I better answer or she’ll keep this up.”

**_[Busy rn, I’ll call you later.]_ **

**[You better. Takeru’s disappointed.]**

_Oh great, guilt now._

“Sorry,” he said to Kuroo and put the phone down.

“No problem.” He’d picked up the magazine again, turning the pages until he found an article he liked, but his eyes flicked every so often to the door.

“Kozume-kun is still at Nekoma, is he?” Tooru asked.

“Uh-huh, third year.”

“I’m very grateful you have enough pull with your kouhais that you can call on him for me,” Tooru began. “Not sure mine would, but then they’d have to come from Miyagi.”

“Yeah, it’s not that far,” Kuroo murmured.

“I’m still impressed you have that sway over former teammates, Kuroo-chan,” Tooru replied.

“Huh?” He peered over the top of the magazine. “Oh ... no, not really. Well, I guess Tora might turn up if I asked him, but Kenma wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t wanted to, but he likes computers and sorting shit out. And any excuse to skip practise.”

“You’re friends?” Tooru guessed. “Off court, I mean.”

“Yup. I’ve known Kenma since I was six, I guess.”

“You were seven. I was six,” Kozume put in. He was at the doorway again. “Uh ... I’m saving the data now. It’ll take a while.”

“We were both six because you came to my seventh birthday party, smart-arse,” Kuroo retorted. He stretched out and pretended to read the article. “Or ... hey, were you five?”

“I was six,” Kozume insisted.

“Whatever?” Kuroo flapped his hand. “It’s a long time.”

“Did you meet at school?” Tooru asked, addressing the question to Kozume

“Nah, same street,” Kuroo answered. “I dragged him outside to play. He ran back to his bedroom and hid a lot.”

“Kuro never took the hint,” Kozume said, and gave the tiniest of smiles. Then he coughed. “There’s ... um ... nothing more to do for an hour or two, so ... uh ... I ... do you mind if –”

“TV – help yourself. Or we could have a session at the college courts as you’ve given up your time today.”

“No!” Kozume yelped as Kuroo laughed.

“We’ll grab some food,” Kuroo said, still snorting. “You joining us, Oikawa?”

He’d stood up, his hand trailing across Kozume’s shoulders, and if he objected, he showed no sign. But then he gave no indication that he’d even noticed the contact.

And Tooru was about to say no, but Kozume shrugged.

“It’s hot outside,” he mumbled.

Sighing, Kuroo released him. “It’s called summer.”

“I’d rather stay in.”

“So, what you’re saying is you want me to bring burgers in.”

 “And ice cream. Or just ice cream.”

“I’ll go,” Tooru said. “It’s the least I can do.”

“I need to stretch my legs,” Kuroo said. “See you in a bit, Kenma.”

It was a muggy day. Heat and pollution shimmered through the air, and Tooru tucked a mask on, hoping to get some respite from the fumes. Kuroo didn’t bother, but took long strides towards the row of shops and stopped by a cafe. “Drink?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be bringing food back?”

“Kenma won’t notice we’ve gone.”

It was his friend, so he should know. Nodding, Tooru followed Kuroo into the cafe and placed an order. Lime soda for Kuroo and a strawberry milkshake for himself.  It was busy inside, but Kuroo had found a table, small and in the middle of all the others, but it housed them both even if it were a little cramped.

“You got that essay in, then?” Kuroo began after a slurp of his drink.

“Mmm, no problem in the end.”

“Yaks reckons if you’d apologised, then you could have got the same amount of time as the others.”

“Probably.” He spooned some of the froth off his milkshake, letting the bubbles pop on his tongue. “I’m not very good at backing down.”

“I understand that.” Kuroo was silent for a while, his gaze on the window and the passersby. “I never asked you, but ... uh ... how’s Iwaizumi now?”

“Pardon?” Tooru began to cough, the milkshake sticking in his throat. “Wh-why are you asking now?”

“’Cause ... I don’t know. I guess since training when you called his name, I wondered.” He pouted his lips round the soda straw, then appeared to think better of it. “Horrible to see an injury like that.”

_‘Bad luck, Ace,’_ Kuroo had said, then made sure the Nekoma players had stayed back, not intruding. Tooru was quite sure he’d never thanked him for that.

“I ... sorry ... I forget sometimes that you were there.”

“That’s cool. It’s not like we knew each other.  So ... how is he?”

“He’s well. He can run, and we had the odd practise before I left, but he’s not back playing yet.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. Could tell he was a great player. Passionate about the game, right? And you two had _such_ a connection.”

“Hmm, I expect Karasuno told you everything about us.”

Kuroo laughed. “You think? Sawamura is not that sporting. Sure, we knew of you. We also caught a few clips of your games.”

“They didn’t brief you? But they were there! Watching!”

“Yeah, because there was a chance they’d come up against us. Sawamura says he wanted to see how we’d cope. Suga laughs and says they wanted you to wear us out.”

“But you knew nicknames and things? You called Kindaichi Shallot-head?”

“Because Shorty-kun,” Kuroo began, and Tooru didn’t need an explanation, seeing Hinata bobbing up and down in his head, “is a friend of Kenma’s and is really talkative, and Kenma may look as dopey as hell, but he listens.” He smirked. “Hinata told Kenma all about the ‘Grand King and Seijou’s Ace’. Said something about you being in sync, and –” He paused for a sip of his drink. “We saw that play, where you tossed it from off the court. Amazing.”

_I thought it was a set up._

And  though he’d banished that from his mind, too distraught at his selfishness in the wake of Iwa-chan’s injury, he realised now, he’d never quite been able to rid himself of the feeling that this had been one big conspiracy, guaranteed to hurt.

_Why did I ever think I was that important?_

“Can I ask something?” Kuroo murmured.

“Um, yes.”

“Why didn’t you play in that match?”

“Because I’m a brat,” Tooru said. “Isn’t that what you’ve been told?”

“I’ve not been told anything.” He looked as if he were going to ask again, but flicked his hair, instead asking, “When you came on, was that really to prove you were the best?”

“Uh...” He could feel Iwa-chan gripping his hand as he’d rasped, ‘Win the game.’ “Something like that,” Tooru murmured. Sniffing, he returned to his milkshake, hoping his cheeks weren’t as pink as the drink.

“Musta been tough.”

“It was. Iwa-chan went through so much. He tore a tendon, so they operated, and then he lost his scholarship for here. He’s had to repeat the year and he’s not been able to –”

“For you as well,” Kuroo said softly, and took a long slow sip of his drink.

“M-me?”

“You want to be a pro. Must have been hard watching how easily it could all be over for you.”

“It’s not _over_ for Iwa-chan!”

Kuroo put his hands up and rocked back in his chair. “Hey, I’m not getting at you. This is sympathy!”

“Sorry.”Clasping his hands as if in prayer in front of his face, Tooru stared out of the window. “When it happened, I honestly only thought of Iwa-chan. He was in so much pain, lying in that hospital bed. His parents had to leave, but I stayed overnight and waited with him. I was useless, you know, and all he did was swear and tell me to leave. I wouldn’t let him face it alone because I assumed he needed me, but now I think he didn’t want me there, that he needed to get through that night by himself.”

“I don’t think anyone would want to be alone, Oikawa.”

Tooru hissed a breath through his teeth. “But it was my fault. If anything it should have been me there and not him because he was strong and sensible and so very brave I was the weak one who always over-trained.”

“But it wasn’t. Would he have wished it was you there?”

“No.”

“And does he want to be a pro?”

“Well, he wants to study Law, but it ... it was something we used to talk about.” His eyes began to sting. “You know, we were twelve years old and talking about how we’d play for Japan and compete at the Olympics, and that’s still what I want, but maybe ... maybe ...”

Kuroo nodded. “When I was twelve, I told Kenma I’d be so good that I’d be playing in Brazil.” He arched an eyebrow, leaning towards Tooru. “It’s not that I’m not good enough, you understand, but  ... plans change. Reality creeps in.”

“You think I’m unrealistic!”Tooru replied, bristling.

“I didn’t say that,” Kuroo soothed. “I don’t want it enough, at least not enough that I’d concentrate on it to the exclusion of everything else. Shame I can’t split myself in two.”

“You could still play semi-professionally.”

“Yup, in between surgery, I’ll run down to court and block you. Then I’ll dash back up, perform an emergency tracheotomy, then saunter back to receive your serve.”

And Tooru began to laugh, imagining Kuroo in scrubs and a gown. “You want to be a surgeon, then?”

“It’s only my first term, long, long way to go yet.”

They sat a little more relaxed now, Tooru swirling the spoon in his shake. Around Kuroo’s wrist, he noticed a bracelet, twisted threads of red and black, and his mind skipped to the boy back at his apartment.

“Friendship bracelet?” he asked.

“This ... ah, yeah, Nekoma thing.”

“I’ve not seen Yakkun with one,” he bluffed as he searched his mind.

Kuroo wasn’t taken in. “His probably wore thin.”

“Kozume-chan’s hasn’t.”

“Maybe his is a new one for the season.”

Tooru smirked. “Is it? Do you really sit around weaving bracelets for your team?”

“Nah, we have a cheerleader who does it. Akane is ... enthusiastic.”

“So, it’s not just the two of you wear them.”

Kuroo rattled the ice in his drink, taking a gulp. “We don’t need a bracelet to remind us of each other. We have twelve years of memories.”

“Eleven for me,” Tooru murmured, then blinked realising he’d said it aloud. Kuroo said nothing. “Forgive me, Kuroo-kun....”

“Uh-oh, Oikawa’s using a respectful suffix, must be an awkward question,” he mocked.

“Hmm, maybe. Only, you don’t seem to have that much in common with Kozume.”

“Volleyball,” Kuroo replied, sounding terse, but he relented. “And once High School’s over for Kenma, that’ll have gone. But, I’m not sure we have to be dating app compatible to get on, do we?” He coughed. “Not that  there’s any dating going on, but you kinda make friends in unlikely places and history, shared connections have got a lot to do with it.”

“So ...” Tooru pondered his phrasing. “If you met Kozume now, do you think you’d be friends?”

“No idea. The one thing I do know is that if I met him for the first time today, I wouldn’t be the same person I am now. And he wouldn’t be either.” He drained his drink, sucking noisily through his neon green straw. “It’s a negligible question, Oikawa- _chan_.”

 

Kozume was deep in his game when they got back and as Kuroo had predicted, had not appeared to notice how long they’d been gone. He nibbled on his burger, and looked grateful for the ice cream, explaining in soft tones that he’d done all he could.

“I’m not sure how much has saved, but some...” He tailed off, slouched his shoulders and ate more food.

“I’m grateful. Really,” Tooru enthused. He smiled at Kozume, who seemed to shrink further into himself, stepping away.

‘S’fine.” He cleared his throat. “If you’d backed it up, then I could’ve transferred it all.”

“Yes, I know. I did save most of the volleyball plays and some strategies. College work, I didn’t, but there’s not much of it, so that’s okay.”

“It’s got to run for a while,” Kozume mumbled. “Uh... I can’t ... um ... stay.”

“Oh, sure. Really, I’m so thankful you’ve been able to come at all. And ... um ... could I have your number. That way if I need any advice then I could –”

“Kuro has it,” Kozume replied, reeling back at the question. “Get him to contact me. I did leave a list.”

“And I think that’s our cue to go, Oikawa,” Kuroo said, finishing his burger and screwing up the wrapper.  He waited for Kozume to fetch his stuff from the kitchen before turning back to Tooru. “Sorry, he’s antsy with new people. And ... uh ... I think he’s a bit intimidated.”

“Why?” Tooru blinked, amazed because he thought he’d been charming and relaxed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make him feel uncomfortable. He’s a great Setter from what I remember.”

“Yeah, it’s not that. He doesn’t understand people being that intense. He even runs from Shorty-kun at times.”

“Oh.” Tooru looked around the room. Soon the crumpled cushions on the sofa would be the only sign he’d had company. “Kuroo, should I call Suga? Or Bokuto, do you think?”

“Ah, you can try. Suga’ll come round. He’s angry but Sawamura says he’ll work it out in his head in time. Bokuto ... He’s just _not_ happy. I’ve texted and he says he’s okay, but maybe he doesn’t think college is worth the hassle.”

His face must have fallen, or maybe he’d assumed his bleak expression, the one Iwa-chan used to look at and then sit next to him while he waited for him to speak.

_Would he? Really?_

“And now I’m thinking are you upset ‘cause he’d leave college, or because you’ve lost an Ace?” Kuroo murmured. He turned away. “C’mon, Kenma, bus leaves in five.”

Kenma was behind him, already plugged into his earphones. He raised a hand to Tooru, then shuffled towards the door.

“I’d hate Bokuto to leave!” Tooru called after him. “He’s a good guy. He’s funny and ...” He scowled at Kuroo’s back, just as he closed the door. “He doesn’t judge people!”

But, he’d miss having an Ace as good as Bokuto. The trouble, he realised, was that while he might know some of his foibles on court, he knew too little about him as a person.

Except that he liked pancakes.

And dumb movies.

And he was loyal.

And he had friends, who would always root for him.

_And maybe I’m one of them._

 

 

He had nothing to do. He guessed he could go to the courts and practise, but turning up three hours early had started to smack of desperation. Saturday afternoon, and he had no plans. There was the movies he guessed, but there was nothing he particularly fancied, and with his Psychology assignment done, he only had one small Astronomy project to finish and that wasn’t due until the very end of term.

Boredom sat uneasily on his shoulders. When he’d first moved away, he fancied he liked the solitude. It had been somewhat satisfying to shut himself away, to brood and not need anything from anyone.

He plumped the cushions, fussing a little, cleared the plates, plunging them into hot water, then checked on his new laptop. Kozume had left a list of instructions, but no phone number, and he could see it working, downloading the old information. Going back into the lounge, he flopped onto the sofa, then twisted around on feeling the phone in his pocket.

_Get it over with,_ he thought, and tapped facetime.

“Hey, Neesan, I’m free now.”

She was sitting in the room she used as a studio, tiny, but it had a skylight and she’d counted herself satisfied she’d been able to find somewhere for both her and Takeru that didn’t break her bank.

“Tooru. At last!” She put down her sketchpad, and smiled at him.

He smiled back noting the paint or whatever it was on her fingers, and the smear of green on her cheek. “Sorry, I had someone round.”

“Interesting?”  Her tongue had slipped out between her teeth. “Anyone I know?”

“One of the volleyball guys and a friend of his who was helping with my laptop. You heard about that?”

“Mum mentioned it.” Realising she had paint on her face, she began to rub at it. “She’s upset you won’t be back.”

“I have explained. And it’s not that I’m not coming back at all.”

“And Takeru’s sulking. Mind you, that might be because he wants birthday cake and thinks you’re going to bring him something from Tokyo.”

“Tell him I will. How is he? Mum said something about asthma.”

“Ah, she fusses. He’s well enough.” She sucked her lip. “Have you really got a tournament?”

“Yes!  I swear. Well, I’ve not definitely been picked yet, which is why it’s important I stay here and make myself available.” He scowled at her. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring us, Tooru,” she scolded. “Look, I know college is exciting, but you do need to keep Mum informed, okay?”

“I have spoken to her. But she was away for a while with dad,” he replied, hoping he sounded casual. “Have you seen much of him recently?”

“A bit. He took Takeru on an overnight fishing trip, which was a blessing as I’m up to my eyes.”

“That’s good of him.”

“It was actually. He didn’t have to.”

He tried a different tack. “Poor Takeru, I hated fishing.”

“He likes it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so down on Dad?”

“Oh, come on, you remember what he was like growing up?”

“Yes, I do, but he’s very good with Takeru, you know?” He watched as she gave a grim sort of smile. “I’m not saying it excuses everything, but he’s much more relaxed with him.”

He arched one eyebrow and snorted. “You’ve changed your tune.”

“Because I grew up. I had to fast when I got pregnant, and I saw a different side to him.”

“You’re telling me he was happy about it?”

“No, I’m telling you that he supported my decision and didn’t try to persuade me otherwise,” she snapped. And then his sister flapped her hand. “Look, it’s ancient history. Tell me what’s happening with you?”

“I’m fine.”

“But all alone on a Saturday afternoon.”

“I’ve just said goodbye to people, I told you.”

“Not meeting up with anyone then ...” Her eyes were wide and her lips were gently curving.

“No plans, except practice later. And I’ve finished most of my work, so I’m at a loose end.”

“Ah, that’s why you called. You’re bored, and I’m the last resort,” she moped, then snorted. “You’re not meeting up with your girlfriend then?”

“What?”he yelped.

“Mum says you’ve seen a lot of her. Cinema, coffee dates...” She rolled her eyes. “Quite the romance.”

“No, no, NO! She’s a friend, that’s all. And someone else came to the cinema with us.”

“Aaand,” she drawled, then lowered her voice, “was that someone else blond and from Miyagi?”

“What is this?” he demanded. “For your information, it was Bokuto Koutarou. He plays volleyball – extremely well - we go jogging, and ... oh, yes, Dad’s met him.”

“So, what’s happened to Sugawara?” She twitched her lips. “I liked him, he was very cute, and Takeru liked him, too.”

An urge to confide threatened to overwhelm him, but if he told Hoshiyo, then she’d feel honour bound to tell his parents about the attack, and who knew what would happen. It had been mere seconds since she asked, but they felt as if they were dragging, and her gaze was becoming perceptive.

_Distract her._

“Nothing’s happened to Suga,” he lied, trying not to grit his teeth. “He’s a friend. I have quite a few. Anyway ... what _are_ you implying?”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “I like winding you up, it’s so easy to do.”

He metaphorically huffed out a breath. “Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, it was a joke!” She was still giggling, then sighed. “I guess I’ll break it gently to Mum that she’s not to expect a wedding.”

“Just quash any conversation if she starts talking about me having a girlfriend. It’s really _not_ going to happen.” And Tooru bit his lip, wondering if he’d said too much.

Or maybe it wasn’t enough because he was tempted quite suddenly to confide in her, to re-establish the bonds when they’d both been so much younger and listening to their parents argue. But Hoshiyo hadn’t been able to put it right back then, and it had been unfair to expect her to. Only with Hajime, had he forgotten the thrown plates and raised voices.

“You’ve gone very thoughtful,” Hoshiyo remarked. “What’s up?”

“How are Mum and Dad getting on now?”

“Same old, same old,” she said, shrugging, then stopped. “No, I don’t mean like back then. It’s calmer and they travel more. They seem ... um ... content. Why do you ask?” Her eyes were shrewd.

“I had a bit of a spat with him, that’s all. Reminded me of ... before.”

“Okay.” She said no more, but Tooru wasn’t quite sure she believed him. “So, what do you want for your birthday?”

“Volleyball gear. I could do with a new training top.”

“Boring,” she said and fake yawned. “Ah, I’ll think of something. How’s Hajime, by the way?”

“Um... not sure. Fine I think.”

She actually rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you are speaking to him.”

“I’m trying, Neesan. But he’s got a different phone, and I don’t know the number. I’ve written and emailed, but he’s not replied.” His throat rasped, and could feel a sudden heat behind his eyes. “I don’t know what else I can do, short of coming home and demanding he speaks to me.”

“Then do that!” Her face was serious now. “Tooru, I know how important he is to you. You’ve been inseparable for eleven years. And sure, friends drift apart, but this isn’t drifting, this is too abrupt!”  He watched as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and her expression softened. “You must miss him.”

And he couldn’t stop the tear now, but turned to the side so she wouldn’t see. “Yes, I miss him. I like it here and I have some friends, but it’s not the same. I miss Iwa-chan, and I don’t think that’s going to change.”

“Then come home and have it out with him.”

“I’ve already told you –”

“The tournament, yes.”

“But when that’s finished, I’ll be straight back. Do you think that’ll work?”

“The one thing you’re good at, Tooru-chan, is persistence. I remember the pair of you running across the lawn and you had no chance of ever beating him, and yet you kept on running.” She smiled at the long gone memory. “You were never a bad loser if you lost to _your_ Iwa-chan, so ... don’t lose him now, eh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have actually finished this. And I know the chapter count keeps changing, but it will be 47 chapters. That is it! So 12 more after this. It might be one a week, it might be more. Still thinking.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	36. Ascension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of the holidays, and Hajime's not only taking Koji to get his cast removed, but first he has to drop by the old apartment ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm ... so what about that letter, eh?
> 
> Revelations aplenty, and a flashback connected with Chapter 5.

 The test papers returned, Hajime allowed himself a smile at the results. Fitting for a former Ace, he guessed, and let a ripple of pleasure wave through him.

“Not that any of you are obliged to, but in case you want some extra classes – maybe to give you a boost –” his sensei was saying, “we are running classes during summer. If your marks were lower than you’d expected, then please come and see me before the end of term, and we can have a chat.”

She paused, her eyes flicking around the class, a small smile on her lips, which widened when she met his gaze. “Congratulations are due to Iwaizumi-kun, who’s managed to top the class in four subjects.”

He flushed and smiled back, acknowledging her praise, as his classmates clapped dutifully.

“He has done the year before,” someone, a girl he thought, hissed.

“You’re quite right,” replied a lower voice. “Iwaizumi-kun should have come top in everything. And it’s clearly unfair that he has this advantage of putting the study hours in.”

_That’s Ennoshita._

He grinned again, looked over his left shoulder, and saw the girl frowning over her paper, and Ennoshita with his impassive face getting to his feet.

“Well done,” he said, stopping by Hajime’s desk.

“Yeah, well, exactly the same questions as last year, so ...” He snorted when the girl angrily threw her book in the bag. “I’m kidding.”

“Ah, you heard.”

“Mmm.” Hajime shrugged. “I am familiar with some of the course material, and to be honest I’d have been mad if I hadn’t done well in some of them. And you?”

“Well enough to get my mum off my back for not quitting Volleyball,” Ennoshita said and grimaced. Then he held out his papers, brandishing the history one under Hajime’s nose, which proudly proclaimed him top student. “I’m astonished.”

“History buff? Didn’t know that?”

“Fascinating subject, especially when you think of the stories that could be told ...” He trailed off, then bundled his papers in his bag.

“Fancy a coffee?” Hajime offered.

Ennoshita blinked. “Uh, really?”

 _He doesn’t have to look quite so astonished._ “Kind of a thank you for putting up with me at the beginning of the term.”

“Oh ...” He smiled wryly. “Didn’t quite have the desired effect, but you are absolutely welcome.”

“So ... coffee?” Hajime shuffled his bag onto his shoulder. “I’ve got some time to kill before I pick up my brothers, if you’re not rushing straight to practise.”

“Ah ... I would, but ... uh ... it’s not only _my_ results I need to worry about,” he replied, zipping up his bag. “Last year four of them were in danger of missing the training camp.” He put his hands together, looking all the more impassive like a Buddha. “I pray they’ve learnt their lesson.”

“And your first years?”

“Have had it drilled into them that if they don’t work hard at classes, they have zero chance of making it to Tokyo.”

“When do you find out?”

Ennoshita’s phone beeped. “Right about now,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Phew, Hinata scraped it.”

_Beep._

“And Tanaka.”

“How about Kinoshita? He’s um, not college prep is he?”

“No he’s Class Two.” Ennoshita eyed him with curiosity. “Oh, you wrote the articles with him. He said it was a good final.”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid. So ... will he make the trip?”

“I’m not worried about him. He keeps up and he’s diligent.”

_Beep._

Ennoshita’s fingers fumbled the phone and it slipped, only saved from crashing to the floor by Hajime catching it.

“Thank you. Not sure I can bear to look.”

“It’s Kageyama,” Hajime replied. “Want me to check?”

“Why not? You might bring him luck.”

 **[I passed.]** Hajime laughed. “That’s all he said.”

“I was sure he had, or he’d have delayed texting me.” He huffed out his cheeks, accepting his phone then scrolled through some more messages. “Just Yuu now.”

“Maybe no news is good news,” Hajime suggested.

“Or the exact opposite and he’s gone off on one.”

“Nishinoya?”

“As long as he’s not near any ugly vases, this might still be salvageable. I better go.”

“Where?”

“Class three. Another time for that coffee, Iwaizumi-san.”

“If you want.”

Ennoshita raised his hand, then looked back as he dashed out the classroom. “I would like to, very much.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m playing for your team,” Hajime yelled after him and made for the door.

He heard a shout before he got there, the sound of bags dropping to the floor and then a piercing shriek though the corridor.

“ROOOOLLLLLLLLLING THUNNNDEEERRRRRRRRRRR!”

“YOU PASSED?” Ennoshita cried.

“YUP!”  Nishinoya was still on the floor, his smile as wide as the sun.

“EVERYTHING?”

“Yeah, even that fricking comprehension.”

“You _promise?_ ”

“Hey, hey, Chikara, when have I ever let you down?” Nishinoya replied, picking himself off the floor.

“You could have texted me.”

“Ah,” he slicked his quiff off his forehead, “where woulda been the fun in that? Hey, Iwaizumi-san, how ya doin?”

“Pretty good. I think your captain just about had apoplexy.”

“Apo what now?” Nishinoya replied, and laughed. “How’d the others do?”

“All good. We’re a full squad this time around?”

Lingering by the door, Hajime watched as they both bombed out of the corridor and to what he presumed was practice.

“Lucky boys.” Misa stood at his shoulder.

“You don’t have a training trip worked out then?”

She shook her head. “We have managed to get a practise game planned. Michimiya-san knows the former Johzenji manager, and they have a girls’ team.” She smiled at him. “Don’t suppose you could give Aobajousai a call, could you?”

“Ha, my credit with them has all gone, or I’d have tried earlier. Maybe try that team we beat. They might be looking.”

“True.” Her eyes were still on the wake Nishinoya had left. “Wonder what it’s like to be that good and know that’s what you want to do with your summer?”

“Isn’t that why you stayed?”

“Hum. I’m under no illusions, Iwaizumi-san. I doubt we’ll get through the preliminaries. And then I can retire, and concentrate on my studies.”

“That’s defeatist talk.”

“Nope, I’m a realist. But I’m going to enjoy it while I can, and leave this club in a better shape than when I joined.”  She held her head high. “And maybe in two years time, I’ll see Sugawara-kun lead the team to Inter-Highs.”

It was a great dream, and as she walked away, Hajime saw it in his minds-eye too. And he felt a pang, not of envy, but that maybe he’d not be in Miyagi to see it.

***

His mum was still smiling over his results at breakfast the next morning. First day of holidays and he’d not slept in, but got up when he smelt the coffee and wandered through. His Dad was finishing up, gave him a wink and a squeeze on the shoulder as he sat down.

“My genius son,” he declared. “Not sure where you get that from.”

“He works hard,” said his mum and ruffled his hair. “We’re both very proud of you.”

“One set of results,” Hajime mumbled, back pedalling.

“But you’re on the right track,” his mum insisted.

“You’re doing your best,” countered his dad. He sat back in his seat. “Think I’ll have another coffee. What are your plans for today, Hajime-kun?”

He stifled a yawn. “Not sure.”

“Hospital appointment,” his mum reminded him. “Koji’s plaster is being removed.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Am I taking Sab, too?”

“If you could. Oh and ...” She paused, then fished some fruit out of the fridge, slicing melon and lychee into a bowl. “If you take the bus, then could you stop off at the old apartment?”

“Guess so.” He shrugged, then poured himself a coffee from the pot. “Why?”

“New people have _finally_ moved in and there’s a stack of post for us, apparently.”

“Sure.”

“It’ll all be junk mail,” his dad sighed, “but I guess they didn’t want to bin it, just in case.” He got to his feet and ruffled Hajime’s hair. “Are you meeting up with that Neighbourhood team later?”

“Uh, if that’s okay.”

“Yup, we’ll be back from the ante-natal at five, so not a problem. Right, I have to go. Later, number one son!”

His mum busied herself with laundry after that, letting Hajime eat and drink in peace. In another room, he heard his brothers start to wake, one scampering to the bathroom, the other then pounding on the door.

Koji skidded in first. “I CAN PLAY TODAY!”he yelled. “Please can we go to L’il Tykes afterwards?”

“Your wrist won’t be as strong,” his mum cautioned. “Maybe you should leave it a day or two?”

“But I neeeed to be fit,” Koji wheedled. “Tooru-niisan will be back soon and I have to be good by then.”

Hajime could see his mum deliberately not looking their way, and he swallowed down some coffee, too much so it scorched his throat. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure when he’s back. Maybe we can get Sugawara-kun to help, or ... uh ... Yahaba.”

“Who?” Koji sulked.

“Seijou Captain.”

“He’s good.” Saburo joined them, sliding across the floor in his socks, hair far more of a mess than Koji’s. “I saw him. ‘N, they had a really cool Ace with wicked hair.”

“Oi, I’m the cool Ace.”

“Nah, Kyoutani-san was amazing.” He turned to his mum. “C’n me and Koji have a trampoline for our birthday?”

“Where’s that idea come from?”

“I want to be as good as Kyoutani-san,” Saburo replied, looking fierce. “So I need to be able to jump.” 

“We’ll see,” she said, but looked thoughtful. It wasn’t her usual ‘we’ll see’ the one Hajime knew meant ‘no’ but a ‘possible’, the idea being filed away until she’d thought about it properly.

The twins began to talk amongst themselves, slurping juice and pouring cereal into their bowls. Neither of them mentioned Oikawa again, their thoughts racing forward to their birthday in August and what they’d do in summer.

And he wondered if Oikawa would remember their birthday, or whether he was so caught up with Tokyo and volleyball, he’d forgotten about all of the Iwaizumis.

 _Don’t brood. You brought this on yourself._   he thought. _And it’s for the best. You know that._

But was it?

***

It was odd being back at the old apartment. The lift was full, so the three of them took the stairs, the twins bounding, while Hajime strode as he familiarised himself with the sounds and smells. It had been his home for eighteen years, and the nostalgia swept over him. It wasn’t that he was swamped by mawkish sentimentality, but this had been an important place. His home, and so much had happened here. He remembered just being him, playing games with his dad, and cuddling up together to watch TV. His mum reading him bedtime stories, sitting alongside him and encouraging him to learn his kanji.

He’d had the occasionally friend back in those early years – playdates he’d thought were more for his mum that anything else – but most of the time he’d been alone.

Until that party and a small boy in well-pressed shorts, a beatific smile and a skill at sports that belied his foppish air. Tooru had rushed into Hajime’s life, and for all that Hajime had – even then – been acutely aware of the differences in their homes, his friend had never remarked on it – at least not with derision. Soon Tooru had spent as much time at Hajime’s as Hajime had spent at his, exploring meadows and neighbourhoods at the same pace.

The twins had been born, and the apartment had shrunk under the mass of their existence. Clothes, cots, prams, and Hajime had shifted to a smaller room.

“You could put stars on the ceiling,” Tooru had suggested, and pulled out a packet.

“Don’t want to.” Hajime had sulked, then sat on the floor. His train set had had to be packed away and not left out in the intricate track he’d made. “Space is dumb.”

“Insects, then. Or dinosaurs,” Tooru’d replied, not offended in the slightest.

“S’pose,” he’d grumped.

The following week at Tooru’s, they’d jumped up and down on his bed attaching luminous stars to the ceiling, then flopped on the floor and drawn a hundred and three beetles (Tooru had counted) cutting them out so they could stick them in Hajime’s room.

The stars had lasted longer than the beetles, but Hajime still remembered waking up and grinning wide at his ceiling every morning.

He hesitated before knocking, keeping Koji and Saburo in check because both looked as if they were about to charge forward.

“Yes.” A woman answered the door. Young, in her twenties, her eyes darting to Hajime, and then behind her as a small child toddled towards them.

He bowed. “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime. I think you have some post for us.”

“OH!” She stopped frowning. “Yes, I’m sorry, I forgot you were coming around.” She smiled a little helplessly. “I would have forwarded it, but there’s rather a lot.” Ducking behind the door, she produced a carrier bag. “It’s all in there.”

He bowed again before accepting the bag. Most probably was junk as his dad suspected, but there looked to be some bulkier things, too. “Thank you.”

“Hope this didn’t put you out,” she replied. “I’ll send anything on in the future.”

“Ah, it’s fine. We’re on our way to get my brother’s cast off,” he said, pushing Koji forwards. “Thanks again.”

 

“That’s a lot of post,” Koji said, peering into the bag.

“Yeah, don’t touch it,” Hajime ordered and stopped to stuff the bag into his rucksack. “It’s probably all for Dad. Come on, we can walk to the hospital from here.”

They were early, but rather than dawdling, Hajime stopped for the obligatory gari-gari, the three of them sucking on the popsicles under the heat of the afternoon. Koji complained about his cast in the heat, then smiled because he remembered where they were going, and started to kick a pebble across the pavement. Saburo returned it, or tried to, but Hajime cut in, laughing as he scraped the stone under his shoe, before skittering across the paving stones.

“It’s gone into the road!” Saburo moaned.

“We’re nearly here,” Hajime replied and scrunched the rest of his lolly. “Finish up then we can go in.”

“How long’s it going to take?” Saburo grumbled, scuffing his shoe on the pavement.

“No idea, but they’re taking the thing off, so it can’t be that long.”

 

It was twenty minutes later when Hajime knew he’d been wrong. The waiting room was full, mainly with parents holding babies, or young children running around with toys.

“First day of the holidays is always like this,” the receptionist said when he reached the front of the queue. “People scheduling appointments so they can go away.” Flashing him a smile, she tapped the name into the computer. “Take a seat.”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s a bit ... uh ... full.”

“As you’re older, then you can sit in the corridor if you’d rather,” she amended. “And there’s a vending machine over there.”

Koji, being Koji had packed his Nintendo, and immediately sat down to play it. Saburo scowled at him, and sat back against the wall, kicking the chair leg.

“I’m bored.”

“Did you bring anything with you? Mum did say.”

“Nintendo’s out of charge.”

“Book then?”

He shook his head. “Can I play on your phone?” Then he scowled deeper. “Oh, right, you don’t have a good one anymore.”

“You can’t play on them in hospitals, anyway,” Hajime replied.  “I’ve got a volleyball mag in my bag. Want that?”

“’K.”

Unzipping his bag, Hajime dug deep in the bag, pulling out his magazine and handing it over to Saburo, then he sat back, legs outstretched and counted away in his head, the game he played when he wanted to speed up time.

“C’n I do the quizzes?”

“Sure.”

“D’you have a pen?”

“It’s in my bag,” Hajime replied, nudging it towards his brother.

“Iwaizumi Koji?”

“That’s us!” Hajime waved and got to his feet.

The nurse approached, assessing the group. “We have to take an X-ray first, to check it’s healed, and there’s not enough seats while you wait,” he said, “so if you’d rather stay here, then I’ll bring Koji-chan back to you.”

“How long will it be now?” Sab asked, when Koji had followed the nurse.

“How long’s a piece of string?” Hajime retorted.

“Huh?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “It’s a dumb question, because I can’t give you an answer to yours.”

Saburo was glowering at him, and Hajime at once felt guilty. “Sorry. Did you want to go with Koji? You must have missed him recently, but you’ll have him back soon, and then you can do all the things the pair of you have done together, again.”

“S’pose.” He chewed on his lip, then stuck his hand right to the bottom of the bag. “I ...”

“What?” Hajime leant forwards. “What’s the matter?”

“I ... I kinda liked just being me for a while,” Saburo mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“Not having to do _everything_ together. ‘N I know that’s mean and I wasn’t happy Koji broke his wrist, but it was ...” He trailed off, not meeting Hajime’s eyes. “I like not being a twin sometimes. Or a Chibi.”

“Oh ... right. Uh, sorry. It’s just a joke.”

“I know, but ... like ... you get annoyed with Tooru-niisan when he calls you Iwa-chan, so –” With a last wrench, he pulled out a pen, dislodging the bag of mail so the letters spilt over the floor. “Aah, sorry.”

“S’fine.” He reached down, gathering the letters in his hands. “Look, you don’t have to do everything together.”

“But we do. And ...” Saburo stopped helping with the post, holding a package on his lap. “Most of the time I really like it. I always have someone to play with and we do homework together and sit together and – like – when Aki was being a git, I knew Koji would back me up, and –” He took a breath. “It’s just been a little bit fun going to practice by myself.”He sniffed. “Am I mean?”

“Nah, you’re normal. Koji prob’ly thinks the same way at times.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Shuffling back to his seat, Saburo sighed, as if with relief, and smiled at Hajime. Then he turned the package over, meaning to return it to the bag. “Hey, this is for me!”

“Huh?”

“Well, me ‘n Koji and ... oh ... you as well.”He sounded vaguely disappointed, holding it out to his brother.

“You open it,” Hajime replied, knowing it was probably something from their grandparents. “Where’s it from?”

“Tokyo.” He turned the package over, and suddenly all the clouds of the day left his expression. “OH!  It’s from Tooru-niisan!”

“What?”

Saburo ripped at the brown paper, and before Hajime could stop him, the contents spilled across his lap. Small packages, each wrapped and labelled. For Saburo, for Koji, and a letter sealed in an envelope.

_‘Hajime’_

“Can I open them?”

“Uh...” He plucked up the envelope. “Not Koji’s, just yours, okay?” he whispered.

And if Saburo noticed the difference in tone, he didn’t mention it.

His fingers slid into the envelope, waiting to rip it open to see what it would reveal.

‘Hajime’ ... it sounded intimate and yet formal. As if ... _Is this an apology?_

“Nii-san!”

“K-Koji ...” He tore his eyes away from the envelope, his mind racing ahead as Koji skidded to a halt in front of him.

“I’m all mended!”

The nurse caught up. “It’s healed well, and we’ll remove the cast. There’s some information to read about after-care – maybe don’t dive straight back into sports – but you shouldn’t be long now.”

“Thank you.” His voice was distant, detached from the only reality he now faced, a reality shrouded in an envelope.

“What’s all this?” Koji demanded of his brother.

“Presents from Tooru-nii,” Saburo replied, and picking up several unopened packets he handed them to Koji. “These are yours.”

_A thin piece of paper._

“Stickers!” Koji laughed. “Aliens.”

“And insects,” Saburo interrupted. “I’ve got lunimous spiders.”

“Luminous,” Hajime corrected automatically.

“Are these early birthday presents?”

_If I tear it up, then it won’t happen._

Tears pricked the back of his eyes, throbbing so hard he was surprised they’d not broken through the dam of his eyeball.

“And sweets.”

“I need a drink. Soda?” he offered bluntly.

The twins nodded, not paying attention and he strode to the vending machine, hoping hoping, hoping he could find something cold to take away the burning rasp in his throat, anything to bring back the semblance of normality and stop the shaking. There was no one in this part of the corridor and he took a moment to rest his forehead against the wall.

He heard footsteps, not the twins, but one pair fleet down the corridor, another set tap tapping, and a heavier pair attached to voice calling, “Slow down. You mustn’t run in hospital, you rogue.”

“But you said I could have ice cream and – ahh!”

Hearing the yelp, Hajime jerked out of his reverie, an instinct –or was it knowledge at the faint familiarity around him – causing him to stretch out his arm, and catch the kid falling to the floor.

“That’s what happens when you run!” someone snapped.

And that voice was _all_ too familiar.

“Iwa-chan-san!” The small boy grinned up at him. “IWA-CHAN-SAN!  MUMMY, IT’S IWA-CHAN! GRANDMA, IT’S –”

“We can see!”

Oikawa’s mother dashed forwards, forgetting the heels she was wearing, and grabbed Takeru’s arm. Behind her, Hoshiyo wore an exasperated expression, changing to a full smile (so like _his_ ) when she saw Hajime.

“Hey, stranger!” she called. “What are you doing here? Not your knee, I hope?”

“Uh ...” His mouth thickened, his tongue twice its size as he tried to articulate some sentence. “B-brothers. Uh ... Koji. He broke his arm.”

And still Oikawa’s letter was in his hand. He screwed it up, stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Aww, poor Koji-chan.”

“He’s f-fine. Getting the cast off today. And –” Pulling himself together, Hajime focused on Takeru beaming up at him. “And you’re all ... um ... well?”

“Asthma!” Takeru explained, sounding inordinately proud. “I have to have _special_ appointments.”

“Oh ... right.”

“And he milks it for all he’s worth,” Hoshiyo laughed. “Knows he gets ice cream out of me and a present from Granny if he doesn’t complain. Wonder where he gets that from, eh, Mum?”

Oikawa-san didn’t reply, but her grip tightened on Takeru’s shoulder. “We should go. They’ll charge us for parking.”

“We have half an hour left. We can pass the time of day,” Hoshiyo replied, casting her mum a curious look. “Perhaps I can buy you coffee, Hajime-kun? I haven’t seen the twins for ages! Be fun to remind them what their best babysitter looks like!”

“We need to get home,” Oikawa-san said and tried to wrap her arms about Takeru, but he wriggled away, launching himself at Hajime.

“I went to see Tooru in Tokyo and we climbed the Sky Tree,” he babbled as Hajime caught him. “Did he tell you?”

“Uh...”

“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know all the kanji,” he continued and giggled. “Your name is a very easy name to type. It’s just a line.”

_It was you..._

“Yeah, that’s right.” Hajime smiled back at him. Takeru’d always favoured his Dad’s side of the family (from what Hajime remembered of him) but in that smile, he was all his uncle.

“Takeru. We need to leave.” Oikawa-san approached, her arms outstretched as she sought to pull Takeru away.

“Mum, we’re fine,” Hoshiyo interjected, a hint of steel in her voice. “You go if you have to. We can get a taxi back.”

Faced with an implacable daughter, Oikawa-san gave a wintry smile, inclined her head to Hajime but didn’t wait for the responding respectful bow. And it was when she’d gone, the double doors of the corridor swinging behind her that Hoshiyo gestured for Takeru to go find the twins.

“So,” she said, and linked her arm in Hajime’s. “Just what gives between you and my mother, Hajime-kun?”

 

**THE PREVIOUS MARCH**

He’s ambling towards the park when he sees her. The sky is clear, and the sun is making valiant attempts to fool the world it’s nearly Summer, and Hajime’s content for the first time in days.

He can do this. He can repeat the year. Okay, so Seijou have refused, but other schools are good. He liked Wakatun. The journey’s more problematic, but with his bike he can keep his fitness going, and maybe ... just maybe ... he can start training with them.

Allowing himself a small dream – he’s facing Seijou and Oikawa’s watching, completely torn over whom to support – he starts to smile.

It will work. He’ll convince Tooru of that, and maybe staying back won’t be too hard after all.

“Hajime-kun?”

Her voice stops him. He turns to see her waiting outside a cafe, checking her watch.

“It _is_ you. Why, you do look smart, I almost didn’t recognise you.”

He bows. “Oikawa-san,” he greets her. “I’ve been looking at schools with my parents.”

“Excellent.” Her smile drops a little, and she steps closer to him. “I must apologise for my husband and son. That scene at Graduation was so awkward. Will you please tell your mother that they meant no harm?”

“Mmm, sure,” he mutters. “It’s fine.”

“Tooru speaks before thinking at times,” she says. “You know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” he replies.

“Would you care for coffee? I’m waiting for Hoshiyo but it appears she’s late and I hate sitting in these places alone.”

He wants to make apologies and refuse. Tooru and the others are already in the park and if he sprints he’ll get there early, have more time in the sun – just the four of them. But Oikawa’s mother is staring intently and he gets the feeling she’s not being polite, but that she needs to talk to him. So he nods his agreement.

It’s not coffee in the end. She has a lapsang souchong and Hajime sticks with water, refusing her offer of a pastry, but they find a table at the back and sit in relative comfort.

“Do you like the schools you’ve seen?”

“Yeah... I mean, yes.  None are as good as Seijou – they don’t have the same facilities, but the teaching’s good. My mum liked Karasuno, and they get good results, but ... uh ... I don’t feel right ... uh ...” He shakes his head because she’s not going to understand. “Wakatani High is small and I think...” Trailing off, Hajime’s aware she’s not listening.

She’s stirring her tea, clockwise, then tapping the spoon on the cup’s rim three times, before repeating the action. “I’m worried about Tooru,” she says at last.

“Um... okay. Why?”

“He’s not himself. Unfocused and ...” She sighs. “Until recently all he could talk about was Tokyo and college. But now I get the idea from things he’s said that he’s having second thoughts.”

“Nah, he’s dead keen on it,” he assures her. “It’s one of the best college teams in the country for one thing.”

“Ah ...” She laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Volleyball drives so much of Tooru’s life, not always to his benefit.”

“Yeah, but ...” Chewing his lip, he wonders how far he can go. Despite knowing her for over ten years, Oikawa-san has never been someone to confide in. She’s accepted him on family trips, he’s stayed over a myriad of times, and she’s always made him feel welcome in their home. But he’s never quite lost the feeling that he’s still a grubby seven-year-old in her eyes, one she thought of as rough and not at all suitable for her ‘darling.’

“He’s a great player, Oikawa-san,” he manages at last. “He could be a professional. Play for Japan, maybe even play abroad.”

“It’s a shame he never got to play at Nationals,” she murmurs to herself, then peeks across at Hajime. “I do know some things about volleyball, Hajime-kun. I know how much that affected him.”

“Yeah, well...” He coughs. “I’m not gonna say he’s over it, but ... uh ... Oikawa’s looking to the future. He knows he’ll get other chances.”

“Mmm, I hope so.”  She’s brooding, even as she takes such delicate sips of her tea. “I just hope history doesn’t repeat itself.”

“Uh ... in what way.”

“You said his college is one of the top for volleyball, didn’t you?”

“Uh ... yeah. It is. It’s why we both want to go.” He gulps trying not to show how much it hurts that his dream is on hold.

“What is Sendai University like, Hajime-kun?”

“Sendai?” His face splits into a grin. “The courses are okay, I guess. It’s kind of more vocational. Mum saw they did law and we checked out the prospectus, but it’s not what I want.”

“And the sport?” she asks. “What is their volleyball team like?”

He laughs. “Can’t compare to Tokyo. Not in the slightest. I mean if they get a string of decent players, they might make some headway, but  you don’t go there on a scholarship, if you get what I’m saying.” Picking up his glass, he’s about to take a drink when he double takes. “Why are you asking?”

“Tooru mentioned it,” she murmurs. “And as I said, I don’t want history to repeat itself.”

His face must have shown his confusion, because without waiting for the question, she continues, her eyes never leaving his. “You do know he could have gone to Nationals, don’t you?”

“Uh... sorry?”

“With the right team,” she says, slowly enunciating each word. “He was offered a place at Shiratorizawa.”

He shrugs, not surprised by her ‘revelation’, because Tooru had told him this before.

“He liked Aobajousai the best,” he replies. “Said you liked it better, too.”

“He said that?” Her eyebrows form a perfect arch. “Hajime-kun, I always liked Shiratorizawa. I far preferred it to Aobajousai, although my husband disagreed.” She broke off, sipping her tea. “The truth is, I actually wanted him to go there rather than Kitigawa Daiichi. We went to look around, he loved it and he did think about it then, but then you had your place and ...”

“I didn’t know,” he mumbles.

 “I didn’t think it mattered because Kitigawa was an excellent school, ” she continues. But when Tooru was _distraught_ after Junior High and not qualifying for Nationals, I urged him to reconsider Shiratorizawa’s offer.”

“But he didn’t.”

She stares at him, her eyes darker now. “He did. And he even went for an interview. And I know his head screamed at him to accept the better school, but ...” She waves her hands in the air. “I should have insisted – certainly for High School. Fifteen-year-old boys should not base life decisions on their friendships.”

He blinks. “Me?”

“Of course _you_ ,” she replies. “Who else was that important to him back then? What was it he used to say?” She creases her brow at the memory. “ _’Iwa-chan’s my ace. I’m not going anywhere without him’._ It was constant. In the end I backed down, and Aobajousai is an excellent school, but ... opportunities lessen as you get older, don’t you agree, especially in sport.”

“Oikawa-san... I ... don’t understand why you’re telling me this. He’s got his place. He’s heading to Tokyo and they have an amazing set-up there.”

“If he goes.” Inhaling long and slow through her nostrils, Oikawa’s mother reaches across and very gently touches Hajime’s hand. “He feels a lot of guilt about your injury, Hajime-kun, and I’m so _very_ scared that he’s going to throw it all away for a second time.”

 

***

 

**July 19th**

“So you’re telling me, that my mother told you Tooru was switching to Sendai, and you believed her?” Hoshiyo asked.

Unable to talk in a cafe, they’d taken a taxi back to Hoshiyo’s apartment. A journey taut with tension – Hoshiyo’s personality every bit as forceful as her brother’s - Hajime wasn’t sure he had any strength left to keep the barricade of denials fixed in his head. And there, in her kitchen, after Takeru had spirited his brothers away to his room, Hajime spilt the tale, flustered and flushing furiously as he recalled the previous Spring.

Immediately on the back foot, Hoshiyo’s first question sent him spinning. “Why would she have lied? I get that she was worried and then .... uh ... I got back to the park, and he was looking at a Sendai brochure. At their Astronomy course, actually.”

“And you didn’t bother asking him!”

“He’d have denied it until it was a done deal, and I know he wouldn’t have been happy at Sendai. Their volleyball’s shit for one thing.”

Hajime broke off and slumped back into the chair. From Takeru’s bedroom the sound of three boys playing a noisy video game rent through the air. He sipped his coffee.

“You’ve known my brother for ... what ... eleven years?”

He nodded.

“And when have you ever known him to not put himself first,” she replied scornfully.

“That’s not very fair.”

“Yes it is. It’s highly accurate. I’m not saying that makes him a bad person, but I’m the same. We’re selfish. And that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about other people, just that if he weighs up the odds, he’s always going to be swayed by the thing he wants most.” She pushed a plate of biscuits towards him, first selecting one for herself. “Sendai’s not great for volleyball, you say?”

“Not really.”

“And as Tooru failed to get to Nationals, but still wants to be a pro, then there’s no way he’d have considered going there.”

“But what about going to Seijou or Kitigawa Daiichi? He could have gone to Shiratorizawa, I know that’s true because he told me they made an offer.”

“And you think - because my mother told you- that he turned it down because of _you_.”

“Uh.” It sounded dumb when she said it like that. He wasn’t that important.

“Look, I was a little preoccupied when it came to Tooru’s senior school, so I don’t really know, but –”

“Then it could be true.”

“All I can tell you is that you shouldn’t believe everything my mother says. She’s very persuasive.” Hoshiyo snapped the biscuit in half. “I still don’t know why she acted the way she did when she saw you today. And as far as college places go, he never talked to me about Sendai. It was always Tokyo, Tokyo, Tokyo because he wanted to get away from Miyagi, although why she’d invent something like that, I have no idea. It’s like ... I don’t know ... It’s honestly like she’s trying to keep you apart.” She blinked. “Oh!”

He closed his mouth, wondering how long it had been gaping open.

“Oh ... kay,” Hoshiyo began slowly, and got up to close the kitchen door. “Hajime-kun, you can tell me to mind my own business, but –” She smacked her lips together, and a blush began to steal across her cheeks. “Are you and Tooru ... uh ... _together_? Like ... uh ... boyfriends?”

The denial wouldn’t form.

“Only, I thought he was trying to tell me something when I last spoke to him, and he was adamant he wasn’t seeing anyone at college when I asked, and ... there was all this stuff about a girl and how that really wasn’t what – And I wanted to ask him, but these things are always so much better face to face and –.” She’d stalked closer, leaning against the table, her eyes staring into Hajime’s.

_I need to leave. To laugh this off._

“Hajime-kun.” Her voice had softened and she touching his hand with her little finger. “If you are _with_ Tooru, then is there a possibility my mother knows?”

A wisp of perfume on the stairs. Fresh. Expensive. And that’s why he’d felt off, not because of the perfume, but it shouldn’t have been there, not if she’d just come through the door. The memory flooded back to him. They’d always been so careful in the past, but she’d arrived back early and what if ... what if ...

“She might.” And he gasped, hand clapped over his mouth at what he’d just admitted.

Hoshiyo wasn’t looking shocked or horrified or disgusted with any of this. Her eyes were wet, and her mouth was wobbling, but she shifted closer, and held out her hands to clasp his face. “Hajime, it’s okay.”

“Oh fuck, what if she -” He broke off, remembering from childhood how Oikawa fled the house with his sister, with tales of arguments and thrown plates and angry words flung across the room. “No, no, she can’t _know_. She’d have yelled and thrown me out.”

“Because that worked so well in the past,” Hoshiyo replied wryly. “You know what things were like in our family when we first moved to Miyagi. You were there, and you’ve always been there for Tooru. He told you everything, didn’t he?”

He nodded and wrenched away feeling his cheeks flame as he recalled just what Oikawa-san might have overheard.

“My mother used to protest in the loudest possible way at my father’s behaviour, but it did no good. So, she changed tactics. I used to think that maybe she didn’t care anymore, or that she had no idea he was still carrying on, but ...” She paused and inhaled deeply. “When I became pregnant, she was ... uh ... not happy, to say the least, and it was worse when I said I wasn’t getting married. So she did her utmost to persuade me of ‘other’ options. And in some ways she was right. I was very young and –” She stared at her hands, taking another breath. “I wanted to keep the baby. I told her that again and again, and she’d nod at me, then sit me down and hammer at me – in the softest tones – how I wasn’t thinking this through and that –”

A noise from the bedroom jerked Hoshiyo’s attention back to present day. “She’s manipulative, Hajime-kun, where do you think Tooru gets it from?”

 “She played me.”

Completely, utterly, twisted all those words. And what if none of it were true, and he’d fucked up everything with Tooru based on a simple lie?

“Probably,” Hoshiyo said. “And Tooru, too. She’s good at hitting the guilt button. The thing is, she’ll have rationalised it as for the best, just as she did with me. Presenting her with a grandson, and an illegitimate one at that, was certainly not on her bucket list.”

Were they talking about the same woman? Had Oikawa-san ever been this cold? “But ... she loves Takeru.”

“Of course she does. I’m not doubting that. But I do doubt her claim she was only thinking of me, and it had nothing to do with how it would look to other people.” Shaking her head, Hoshiyo sipped her coffee, taking a longer gulp before she continued. “And there’s also the fact that if you tell Tooru not to do something, he immediately goes and does the opposite.”

“I need to speak to him.”

She sniffed, but her lips were twitching. “Could say that again, buster.”

But as he got out his phone, she dropped her hand on his arm, staying the call. “I have a better idea.”

“What?”

There was a slight laugh in her voice, not mockery but as if she was purposely lightening the atmosphere. “Zephyrus needs to save Icarus before he drowns in a sea of self-pity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are falling into plaaaaaaace!


	37. Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dilemmas abound. And where is that Ace?

“Assignments,” Takahisho announced, slamming them on the desk. “Are graded. Take yours, read the comments, and if you wish to discuss, then email me over the break.” He paused, pulling out one of the folders. “Do not expect a reply in the next two weeks as I shall be away. Oikawa, a word.”

“Yes, sensei.” Tooru got up from the desk, and tried not to saunter toward his teacher.

Takahisho did not relinquish the file immediately. He lowered his voice. “This was all over the place.”

“What?”

“It was well written – for the most part – but you hadn’t ordered it properly.”

“Huh?”

“Once I’d taken it out of the binding and put the pages in the correct order, then it made more sense, but you have to be careful. I’ve given you a pass on this one as you were obviously exhausted, but also -” He smacked his lips together. “What was it I told you about this being your own work?”

“It was. I haven’t plagiarised,” Tooru replied. He swallowed, aware that a few of the students in the front row were listening in.

“We will talk about this after class,” Takahisho said. “And then I’ll grade it.”

“But I haven’t. I took care not to and I cited all sources.”

“After class,” he dismissed. “Sit down.”

So he sat. Yaku was on his right and Suga beyond him, and although Yaku gave him a rueful smile, Suga was expressionless, staring down at his hands and apparently not even aware of any disturbance.

The bruising had gone and unless you looked, Suga’s face was now much as it had ever been. There was some residual puffiness around his nose, but nothing anyone would stop to point at.  He got up and walked to collect his essay, no sign of limping or clutching his ribs.

“Is he okay?” Tooru mouthed.

“Not sure,” Yaku muttered out of the side of his mouth. “He was fine first thing. We were having breakfast, and joking around, but then on the way here, he got a call, and ...” He trailed off, shrugging as Suga returned with both their files.

“Morisuke,” he murmured, handing it over.

“Good grade?” Tooru asked, breaking the silence before it could thicken.

“Not bad.” Suga nodded to him, and although there was precious little of the warmth of past conversations, he was at least speaking. “And yours?”

“He’s not graded it yet. Wants to see me after class.” He tried a lacksadaisical smile, but neither Suga nor Yaku were fooled. “Maybe it’s too brilliant.”

“Maybe he’s going to give you a chance to resubmit?” Yaku suggested. “Take catch-up classes for the ones you missed.”

“Hope not. I’m going home once this tournament’s over.” 

Gloom settled over him for the rest of the lecture and he barely took any of the sensei’s words in as he pondered his summer.

Volleyball tournament (if he were picked) and then back to Miyagi. He closed his eyes. _Hoshiyo’s right,_ _I have to make it right with Iwa-chan._

 

“This was better than I was expecting,” Takahisho told him, opening up the assignment. Apart from the obvious mistakes caused by your tiredness.” He sighed, exasperated. “If you’d not been so determined to hand this in a day earlier, then you’d have read through it properly and spotted the pages were out of order. But I suspect when you feel you have a point to prove, Oikawa-kun, you go all out to prove it.”

Tooru nodded. “You could be right.”

“And then of course the other reason I wasn’t expecting this to be good was because you’d missed some of the core lectures, lectures that were pertinent to the assignment.”

“I did a lot of reading around the subject, sensei.”

“It shows, but there were parts of those lectures that don’t appear in print. My words, for instance.”

“Sensei?”

“Someone must have helped you, Oikawa, and after I specifically warned the class not to. The phrasing in your essay. The conclusions you drew, they’re unequivocally my source material.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “So, are you going to tell me who helped you?”

“No one,” he lied, and looked directly back. “This is my own work. Perhaps, sensei, we reached the same conclusions independently.”

“You _missed_ my lectures. You should make them up.”

“You did _tell_ me to leave,” Tooru countered.

“Summer school is one option.”

“I might not be in Tokyo, and ... sensei, I’ve been here one term, and you said my essay was good, so is it compulsory for me to attend?” He chewed his lip. “If I read up on your lectures, maybe borrow a classmate’s notes, then would that be enough?”

“Are you going to tell me who has already helped you?”

“No one.”

“And if I refuse to grade your paper?”

“That’s unfair. I haven’t copied anyone. I handed it in and worked very hard on it.”

“And if you’d attended the classes and not walked out – albeit with my knowledge – then you could have produced something much better, and possibly come to some different conclusions.”

He blinked. “Are you telling me I’ve failed?”

“I’d like to know how you managed to write this because the only other theory is that you cheated – maybe getting someone else to write this for you.”

A movement in the corner of his eyes caught Tooru’s attention, and there hovering in the doorway was Suga.

“Sensei, it was me,” he said and stepped inside the classroom. “I had notes.”

“He didn’t know,” Tooru jumped in. “Sugawara wasn’t in class that day and had no idea I’d been evicted, so I went round there and said my laptop had crashed and asked if he’d lend me –”

“And Yaku-kun doesn’t talk to his housemate, then?” Takahisho interrupted, raising his eyebrows.

“I knew all about it,” Suga replied. “But as you’d not actually spoken to me, sensei, I ... uh ...

“Exploited a loophole.”

 Withdrawing his essay, Suga placed it on Takahisho’s desk. “I gave him some notes, that’s all, but if you want to regrade mine too.”

Tooru stared at him, because for all this gesture and kindness, Suga had still not smiled or shown any flashes of warmth. It wasn’t that he was cold, but dormant and listless, weariness dousing his usual spark.

“Takahisho-san,” Tooru began again. “Please don’t censure Sugawara. He did lend me notes, but this was only because I’d lost the work when I was having problems with my laptop.”

“It really did crash?”

“It went for a swim in the fountain. I had to rewrite from scratch.”

Rolling his eyes, Takahisho pushed Suga’s assignment back to him. He took out Tooru’s, scribbled another comment at the top, and then circled a grade. “Go away the pair of you. Sugawara, I’ll see you next semester. Oikawa, I strongly recommend you attend the guest lectures I’m giving in Tokyo over the summer. You can do better.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tooru murmured as they walked along the corridor.

“He said he’d fail you.”

“No, I think he was playing me, seeing if I’d give in. Anyway -” He tugged on Suga’s sleeve, slowing his pace. “Thank you. And, um, sorry for –”

“Tooru, stop,” he said wearily, and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I need to apologise to you. Daichi told me how he worked out it was Kato, so I know you didn’t break a confidence.”

He looked so done, worse than he had recently, even though the bruises had gone.

“I wouldn’t do that, I swear to you. One thing I can do is keep my mouth shut.” Tooru touched Suga’s shoulder. “Is something the matter?”

Staring at him, his mouth drooping, Suga sighed. “The other reason I stayed behind to talk to you. The police called. They’re dropping the case.”

“What?”

“Our word against theirs, and Kato had bruises.” He stopped completely. “Do you know, I don’t have a single mark on my ribs? Internal bruising, Kuroo said, but basically the police have written it off as student high jinks.”

“But you had concussion.”

“Because I fell over.”

“Because he punched you.”

“And I lashed out, too. Besides I tripped more than anything, and Ando backed up Kato’s story, saying it was a bit of a ruckus that had gone too far.” He smiled grimly. “And of course, there was no motive. Daichi’s going to hit the roof.”

“He doesn’t know yet?”

Suga shook his head. “He’s been in lectures all morning. We’re both off this afternoon, so I’ll tell him then.” His brow concertinaed. “If you see a tornado heading this way, duck.”

“What about you?” Tooru asked because Suga again seemed to be thinking far more of Daichi’s feelings than his own. “What do you want to do now?”

“The trouble is that we’re on their radar,” Suga replied. “As much as I’d like to punch Kato’s lights out, if I do anything, I’ll get the blame.”

He didn’t sound scared, just resigned, and Tooru wasn’t sure if it was defeat or practicality driving Suga now.

“If there’d been a witness,” Suga continued. “Or that bus driver had ... oh!” He clasped his hand over his mouth. “Fujita-san!”

“Um. Oh, right, uh, Suga -”

Grabbing Tooru’s arm, he span round to face him, his eyes gleaming. “She told you she’d filmed it, right? So, if she goes to the police, then they can see for themselves.” He was beaming, pulling Tooru along with him. “Where’s she likely to be? You’re pretty friendly with her, so does she like the cafeteria, or has she gone to her next lecture?”

“Suga. Koushi!”

“What?” He was still smiling. “I’m not even going to object to you calling me that – Ha!”

“Suga. She doesn’t have it.” Tooru held onto his sleeve, pulling him closer. “She did see some of it, but hadn’t filmed it. She was bluffing.”

The smile fled his face, weariness again descending, and the glimmer of hope died in an instant. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry. She thought she was doing the right thing. And I was going to tell you, but we ... uh ... kind of fell out, and I wasn’t sure it would be needed. Sorry.”

“Mmm.” Wrapping his arms across his chest, Suga took a step back. 

“But, look, it works in reverse, so if anything happens to us, then they’re bound to ask Kato, and he’ll know that. They’ll have warned him.”

Suga glowered, his focus on something in the distance. He sucked in his lip, letting his teeth drag along it and then straightened up. “Plan B.”

“Which is what?” Tooru asked.

“Not sure yet, but it’ll come to me easier if I can sweat it out. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The courts. I need a workout.”

“Are you fit enough?”

“Watch me fly, Tooru, those fricking assholes have clipped my wings for far too long!”

He was laughing, not quite the irrepressible bubble Tooru had grown accustomed to, but it was airy enough to give a light to his face and a lilt to his tone.

It wasn’t yet lunch time and the courts weren’t busy. A few of the second years (Satou included) were playing, but although Tooru and Suga wandered across, they didn’t call out for them to join in, despite being a four on four and only having one Setter.

“Don’t mind them,” Suga murmured, nudging Tooru.

“You’d have thought they’d have let us play. It’s good practise for everyone.”

“Ha, they don’t understand team spirit and, besides, you are the competition,” Suga replied, and glanced sideways. “You must have noticed during that practise match.”

“Hmm?”

“Satou and his cohorts were baiting you and Bokuto,” Suga said. He bent down and tightened his lace again. “That Wing-Spiker deliberately fluffed several chances.”

“I wondered ...” Tooru began, frowning. “But I couldn’t work out why he’d sabotage his own chance, so I thought perhaps the toss was off.”

“Oh come on. You know your tosses are rarely off!” He smirked. “You’re a passably good player, you know. Reflexes are shit, though!” he said, throwing a ball at Tooru’s head.

“Hey!” Tooru caught the ball, considered retaliation and then decided his revenge would be better spent elsewhere. Bouncing the ball twice, he strode across to the adjacent court, and ensuring he was right in Satou’s sightline, he began his run up.

The toss was high, as he envisioned it, and his leap was timed just right. His palm hit dead centre and for that brief moment when he felt the heft of the ball, he knew the serve was good. The only thing wrong was that there was no one to receive it, or attempt to, because Tooru was sure that serve was unstoppable.

“No touch ace!” Suga concurred, approaching with a smile. “You know, your strength is incredible.”

“I can hear a but.”

“Not really. Who can argue with that? But I did wonder ... we played against a Setter who had a fearsome serve like you.”

“At Spring-High?” he guessed because modesty aside, there hadn’t been a Setter as good at serving as him in Miyagi, not even Tobio-chan.

“Mmm. Miya Atsumu. He had our Libero on the ropes a few times.”

“’Tsumu-chan, really?” Tooru stared, confused. “I know he’s good. I attended the Training camps with him, but how did he beat Nishinoya-kun?”

“Jump float, mainly. Overhead was Noya’s weakness. Wondered if you’d ever considered them.”

“Oh, well, not really. I concentrated on improving my aim and controlling the power.” His lips twitched. “It’s more terrifying.”

“Ha, yes. I swear Daichi still wakes up screaming,” Suga replied, laughing.

But it was an idea. Jump floats were subtle, and he _had_ practised them at Seijou. A matter of strong technique.   _Why did I stop doing them?_

“One of your kouhais was good at them. Yama-something?”

“Yamaguchi.” Suga nodded, rolling his shoulders. “And Kinoshita, too. He fought very hard for a place, and came right in time for Spring High.”

Kinoshita ... Hmm.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “It’s something to think about.”

“Meanwhile, why don’t you get on that court and I’ll toss for you,” Suga said, adding in a whisper. “Show those second years just how good your spikes are, too.”

Thirty minutes in and more people turned up, heralding the beginning of the session. And unusually for lunchtime practice, the three coaches strode in, with whistles and clipboards. Suga stepped off the court, his eyes searching the throng of players, raising his hand as Sawamura jogged in with Kuroo.

“Are they announcing the teams?” Tooru hissed as they joined him and Suga.

“No, they said Thursday – at the earliest.”

“Hope so,” Tooru whispered, “because I can’t see Bokuto yet.”

“Not back,” Kuroo muttered.

“What?”

“He’s at home.” Hands on hips, he narrowed his eyes as he stared dead ahead. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s a couple of sessions.”

“Five if you count the weekend.”

Kuroo ran his tongue over lips, baring his teeth to whisper, “Scared you’ve lost your Ace, Oikawa-kun?”

Well, there was that, but ...

“Gather round!”  the head coach called.

Tooru tried again. “Is he okay?”

“Do you actually care? Beyond volleyball, that is?”

“Yes!” He glared at Kuroo. “You have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”

The coach’s voice carried towards them. “This session is free and easy. Yes, we’re here and watching, but it’s more to see what you’re like with other people. We’ll mix it up, practise serves. Can you group yourselves into the position you play?”

“You’re here for volleyball,” Kuroo replied, running a hand through his thick thatch of hair. “That’s fine, but don’t pretend it’s anything else.” And he walked off, joining the Middle Blockers.

“What the heck’s wrong with him today?”

“Doubt it’s you,” Sawamura replied, and smiled slightly.

Tooru blinked, suddenly struck by this first show of friendship from him since the attack. “What am I supposed to think?”

“He’s worried about Bokuto,” Sawamura said. “Despite what he said, he’s only too aware that he’s missed more than one session.”

“ _Is_ Bokuto okay?” Tooru asked, looking at Suga.

“I ... don’t know. None of us has spoken to him. He texted Kuroo, but that was it.” He huffed out a breath, causing the fronds of his hair to fan across his forehead, then took a step back.

“Hey, you’re a Setter,” Sawamura interrupted, and hand on Suga’s back, he pushed him towards Tooru.

“I’m hardly fit.”

“Sawa-chan’s quite right. You’re a Setter,” Tooru replied and took his arm. “You also have an exceptionally good eye, and I need you to watch Satou’s shenanigans for me.”

“Thank you,” Sawamura mouthed, and jogged off to join the Wing Spikers.

“Right, laps first,” the second in command coach ordered. “Let’s see how fit you all are.”

“Oh bollocks!”

“You should have come jogging with me in the mornings, Kou-chan.” Tooru whispered.

“I have no regrets.”

 

The session over, Tooru hung around to use the shower. It had been a useful session; no game, but he’d proved his fitness, showed his serves and made himself useful setting to the some of the third year Wing Spikers. Of course, he hadn’t been the only Setter called upon, but unlike the practise match, he’d had willing participants, and even one of the second years had put away a spike with one of his tosses.

He was satisfied – at least for now – and smiled to himself as he remembered the Head Coach’s gaze focusing on him. And of course he didn’t dare hope for a first team start, but was a place on the second team squad too much to ask for?

Suga called out a goodbye, mouthed a ‘wish me luck’ to Tooru and left with Sawamura. It warmed Tooru knowing  they were back on speaking terms, that the spat from before was at least consigned to the past, even if not quite forgiven.

His hair dripping, Kuroo emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I do care about Bokkun, you know,” Tooru said, brushing past him.

Kuroo raised his hand, waving him away. “Forget about it.”

“Is _that_ your apology?”

“Nope.”

“He’s an asshole, Oikawa,” Yaku put in, punching Tooru on the arm. “Got time for coffee? Only I never found out what happened with your assignment.”

“Sure. Give me a chance to shower and I’ll be with you.” Ignoring Kuroo, he smiled down at Yaku. “You did well Yaku-chan.”

“I’m feeling in good form,” Yaku replied, looking replete.

“Fuck this!” Kuroo whiplashed back to Tooru. “Can you stop with the dumb names?”

“What?”

“’Bokkun’. ‘Yaku-chan’. ‘Kou-chan’! Whatever ‘the-fuck-you-call me-chan’!  That’s what’s pissing Bokuto off. You show him absolutely _no_ respect and if he walks because –”

“HEY! That’s not fair, Kuroo!” Yaku wrenched on his arm, face creased as he pulled him away. “It’s Oikawa’s way. You know that.”

“It’s fucking provocative and condescending.”

“And you know all about that!” Yaku snapped. He nodded to Tooru, pushing him towards the cubicle. “Go and shower. I’ll meet you out here.”

 

Yaku was as good as his word, sitting on a bench in the changing room, and checking his phone as he waited. And he wasn’t alone. Kuroo had stayed, his legs outstretched but crossed at the ankle as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” he said, sliding Tooru a look.

“You could be right,” Tooru replied. “It’s more habit than anything now, but if I get a reaction it rarely makes me stop.” Standing over Kuroo, noticing Yaku observing them, he held out his hand to pull him up. “You’re the same, I think, Kuroo-chan.”

“Sto-” He grinned. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’re less subtle,” Yaku butted in. “Come on, I want coffee. And one of you can buy me a crème puff.”

“You like them?” Tooru asked. “One of my friends is a sucker for crème puffs, and éclairs. He’s at catering college now, and it’s a toss-up whether he’ll make himself sick of them, or start to look like one.”

“Volleyball friend?”

“What else?” He slowed his pace, then faced Kuroo. “You’re right in that my initial reason for befriending Bokuto is because of volleyball. But then that’s how I’ve got to know all of you, and it doesn’t mean that’s the only reason.”Biting his lip, he touched Kuroo’s arm. “Do you really think he’ll chuck everything in?”

Kuroo was silent for a while, his shoulders hunched up as he continued to walk. And then, as they hit the outside and the sun shone bright around him, he replied. “He’s struggling with classes, and that’s not too much of an issue because he’s here for volleyball, but if he starts struggling with that, then ...” He whistled out a breath through his teeth. “Could be the longest dejected mode on record.”

“So what should we do? Would it help if I called him?”

“You can try, but he didn’t answer me, or Yaks. And I’ve already asked Shirofuku-san, and she got no reply, either.”

“He needs time away, in my opinion,” Yaku said. “Time to miss playing. Akaashi-kun used to deal with his moods by ignoring him.”

“True,” Kuroo replied, and there was a small quirk to his lips. “Used to think one day he’d snap – Akaashi, I mean – and yell, but he never did. None of ‘em did.”

“Wish they had,” Yaku grumbled. “We might have beaten them.”

 

The three of them sat in the cafeteria, Kuroo grabbing a quick lunch and swallowing down a juice before loping off to a lecture.

“Bye, Kuroo,” Tooru called formally.

“See you around Tooru-chan,” Kuroo laughed back, and raised his hand in salute.

“I’ve been forgiven then,” Tooru murmured.

“Did you think you wouldn’t be?”

Tooru considered, then took a sip of his tea, wincing before he added some sugar. “You all know each other. I’m still fitting in.”

“That’s inevitable.” Yaku chewed on his wrap, large bites and lengthy swallows. “I kind of wonder if it would have been better if I’d gone elsewhere. I probably shouldn’t be sharing with Kuroo, ‘cause we know each other too well.”

“Swap with Bokuto?” Tooru suggested.

“I’d kick Kato up the fucking arse!” Yaku said, his eyes fierce and jaw clenched. He tore into his wrap again. “Fucking Ando, too! Hope the police sort it out soon.”

Keeping quiet, Tooru stirred his tea. The cafeteria was emptying, most of the students peeling off for a lecture, or taking advantage of the good weather. And Tooru wondered if he should get on home, or maybe go back to the gym. With all his assignments finished, he had precious little to do now, only the volleyball tournament was keeping him in Tokyo. And if he wasn’t picked, then ...

“You’re looking thoughtful.”

“Pondering going home.”

“Wow, is my company so bad?”

“I mean Miyagi. I said I’d go back after the tournament – if I’m picked.”

“You will be,” Yaku said. And it wasn’t a reassurance, a bland statement of flattery, Yaku spoke with certainty. “Barring the third years, you’re the best Setter we have.”

Tooru accepted the compliment with a tilt of his head. “Well, if I am, then I don’t know when to go back.” He drained his tea, then pulled out his assignment, quickly explaining the dilemma.

Takahisho’s comments, his strongly worded and underlined suggestion that Tooru attended his lectures stood out.

“Tough call.” Yaku swallowed his shot of espresso. “I could give you my notes. They might give a different perspective to Suga’s, but I think Takahisho-san’s point is that you form your own opinion.” Pausing, he screwed up his litter, crumpling the napkin into the cup. “This isn’t a bad mark, and he clearly rates you. Guess it depends what you want most.”

“What do you mean?”

“Volleyball, your degree, or Miyagi?”

“I wouldn’t sabotage my degree by not going,” Tooru debated. “It’s not compulsory. And Taka-san can’t expect me to ditch a family holiday to attend.”

“Do you have a family holiday?”

“Well, no.”

Yaku shrugged. “Stay for the tournament. Stay for the lectures and ditch Miyagi, then. It’s your Dad’s apartment, so they could visit.”

He was silent, unable to think straight as he thought about the summer stretching ahead of him. A summer, where if he was lucky, he’d play and grab another chance against Ushiwaka, show him nothing was over, that every path was valid. And he’d got off on the wrong foot with his Professor, so attending lectures could only help build a better relationship.

But a summer without Miyagi, with only his family visiting.

A summer without Iwa-chan.

“If you stayed in Tokyo, then I’m around, so’s Kuroo as he’ll be working.” Yaku blinked at him, a slow assessing blink. “Look, I’m sorry if we have made you feel out of things, but it’s all of us adjusting to each other, isn’t it?”

“Mmm...” Tooru gnawed his lip. “Thank you. Um ... this Saturday, are you around, then? Maybe we could all catch a movie, or ... uh ... something?”

Grimacing, Yaku stood up. “Twentieth, right? Sorry, Nekoma have a friendly match, and I’m going to watch that. Put the wind up those kouhais of mine. Roast one or two of them!”

“Oh, okay. I suppose Kuroo will be there, too.”

“Yep.”

“Ah, okay.” _So_ He tried not to sniff, and made sure his smile was fixed. “Another time, Yaku. Or may I call you ‘Yaks’?”

Yaku growled. “Leave that dumbass name to the big dumb cat. Yaku-chan is fine!”

 

***

Despite the close atmosphere and the heat of the day, Tooru decided to leave the airconditioned confines of the university  to sit outside. He’d toyed with the idea of going home, but he’d only have to come back for the afternoon session at the gym, so instead he decided to listen to music, read a book and soak up the rays while he people-watched. He ambled out of the building, flicking through his music, and searching for his earphones. But it seemed everyone had had the same idea, the benches were taken, and shade under the trees was at a premium, unless he fancied joining groups of people he didn’t know. Two boys from his Astronomy class were lying out on the grass, shielding their eyes from the sun, and he wondered whether to sit with them, although as he’d not spent any time with them out of class, it would look forced if he sauntered over.

That left the fountain. Scene of his laptop’s demise, but it would at least be cool there, and surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

Last time, he’d been waiting for Bokuto, who’d bounded out, assessed the situation, then dragged him off to Kuroo and rescue. Limitless energy and enthusiasm, despite his exhaustion. Exhaustion he’d been suffering from all term as his hall mates failed to calm down.

Maybe that’s all it is. He needs sleep and time to recuperate.

He itched to text him, to at least let him know he was thinking about him, but what if Yaku was right, and ignoring him was for the best? 

But one text ... that was okay? That was kind, wasn’t it?

**_[Bokkun]_** he began.

He deleted the text.

**_[Bokuto -san, hi it’s Oikawa. Hope you’re okay.]_** he typed instead.

_Should I mention volleyball? Is Kuroo right that I’m only concerned because he’s the Ace?_

His hand shook, and he put the phone away.

Fujita walked through the gates, her hair fluttering in the faint breeze. He waved at her, and she smiled back, but didn’t approach, and he saw the reason why, when her next smile was aimed at someone else by the door, and she picked up her pace to join him. He wasn’t anyone Tooru knew, but he remembered him vaguely as someone who’d been at the cinema.

People were pairing up. The early weeks of college, where everyone was desperate to make friends resulting in a sea of smiling faces, had settled down as relationships solidified or fizzled out. Different, he thought, from school, but then he’d never been without Iwa-chan, the pair of them had made friends then dropped them without equivalence.

His girlfriend, Hani, had thought it odd he’d not had friends outside of volleyball, and during their last fatal row, she’d yelled that it only showed how obsessed and abnormal he was.

“Nothing else matters!” she’d accused, practically spitting with disgust! “ONLY volleyball! And - of course - Iwa-chan!”

He’d thought about placating her, but hadn’t, thinking at the time that if she couldn’t understand how important Spring High was now they’d failed at Inters, then she’d never understand anything about him.

The sun went in, or rather someone blocked it and on instinct, Tooru flinched, remembering the last time he’d sat here alone, but the person joining him on the fountain rim had a far friendlier smile on his face.

“Not disturbing you, I hope,” Nakajima, the first team captain, said.

Tooru shook his head. “I’m passing time, that’s all.”

“You looked lost in your thoughts. I wasn’t sure you’d want company, but I wanted a quick word.”

“I’m all yours, Nakajima-san.”

“It’s about Bokuto.”

Ah.

“Is he all right?”

“Oh, yes,” Tooru replied, trying to sound airy. “It was his sister’s –”

“Birthday, yes, he told me about that, but he had said he’d be back. Look, if you do speak to him, can you let him know he’s cutting it fine. Sure, it’s not the end of the world if he misses the cut for this comp, but ...” He smiled, not at Tooru, but some image flashing before his eyes. “I saw him at Spring High. Amazing guy. Hate to think that was his pinnacle, but, well, it happens.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not his peak. I’ve practised with him a lot, not only during official sessions, and we jog together too. He’s deadly serious, Nakajima-san. Truly serious.”

“Hmm, but he has to be here.” Nakajima tilted his head to one side. “Oikawa-kun, I’m not saying he’ll be kicked off, but perhaps if he can’t commit, then maybe this isn’t what he wants. I know he’s here on a scholarship, but not all of them make it through. Hell, there was apparently one guy didn’t make it before the first day.”

Tooru’s throat tightened.

“Injured out,” Nakajima continued. “Or so I heard. Sometimes the scholarship element piles on more pressure and they fold under it.”

“He was injured,” Tooru muttered, and glared stonily. “The scholarship student you’re talking about ripped his tendon.”

“Uh... what?”

“He’s my friend. Was going to study law, but the faculty withdrew the bursary, which was dumb as he’s fit now and can play as well as ever, better even.”

Nakajima held up his hands. “Oh-kay, I don’t know the circs, but if you say so. Just ... uh ... let Bokuto know, right, if you see him.”

“He’s ill,” Tooru lied. “Not an injury, but a stomach bug.”

“Ah, okay, well, he should tell the coach.”

“Probably too busy being sick,” Tooru embellished.

“Sure. Right, well, I’ll be off. Hope you don’t catch anything, Tooru. You looked good out there today, so I’m sure the Coaches are thinking carefully about you.”

He loped off and Tooru found his phone. He dialled Bokuto’s number, listened to the phone ring out and click onto voicemail. “Bokuto,” he said, mindful of Kuroo’s warning to be respectful, “I hope you’re okay. Call me when you can.”

 

Bokuto didn’t reply. And there was no sudden reappearance, no ‘hey hey heyyy!’ as he bounded into the changing rooms, and no cheery conversation in there morning jogs. The one upside to these last few days of term was that Sawamura came out with him again, face set and determined, silent at first but loosening up as they ran.

“Suga told me about the police,” he said when they’d stopped for breath. He ran a hand over his sweating brow and gulped down some water.

“Is he all right?” Tooru asked.

Sawamura cocked his head to the side, considering. “Uh, yeah, he is actually. Angry, but at them, not himself.” He swallowed some more water. “That’s a good sign. I’m more worried when he corners himself into an overthinking mess.”

“I’m sure you snap it out of him.”

His mouth quirked upwards. “I try. How about you?”

“Me? I wasn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, but it’s still horrifying. Suga comes back to the fact that he didn’t duck in time, and didn’t land a punch back.”

“It was out of the blue,” Tooru admitted. “A flashpoint. I ... I can picture it all so very clearly in my mind, and I told the police everything ...” He stopped speaking, wondering whether to go on and confide, but then the decision was taken out of his hands when Sawamura gripped his shoulder.

“Go on.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s something else. You’re hesitating.”

“Damn, you’re good. I’d hate to be interrogated by you in a court of law,” Tooru tried to joke. He took a breath. “There is something, but I don’t know what it is. Something strikes me as odd, and it’s nagging at me, but I can’t ... it won’t crystallize in my mind.” Slapping his cheeks, he tried to reactivate the memory, but it wisped away. “Green carpet, that’s all!”

“Carpet? Sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“Yes, silly, I know, but it’s made some connection in my brain and I can’t. Work. Out. What. It. Is.”

“Maybe don’t try to think too hard, and it’ll come back to you.”

“Mmm. It might not even help, but ... well ... I can’t get rid of the feeling I’m missing something.” He straightened up, his breathing easier now. “Want to carry on?”

“Sure, think I’ve recovered enough. Sorry, I’m not much of a challenge to you – speedwise, I mean.”

“You have stamina.” Tooru smirked, deliberately provocative. “Kou-chan is a very lucky boy.”

Sawamura spluttered, the water spurting out of his mouth, and he flushed a deeper red than was due to the exertion. “Keep telling him that, will you?” he replied and grinned again, looking sheepish.

“This Saturday,” Tooru said, hoping he sounded casual. “Are you and Suga around? Only I thought we could catch a movie, or something? Maybe ask Bokuto, too?”

“Ah, sorry, Suga’s mum and sister are visiting, so we’ll be out with them.”

“Oh, another time, then... His sister? Isn’t she at school?”

“They finish today. Chiharu’s already complaining because she wants to practise, but Suga’s promised she can sneak into the college courts.” He grinned again. “You might be in demand.”

_He’s finished already. Of course, he has._

And Nakajima’s words came back to him, about scholarship students folding under the pressure.

 “Are you ready?” Sawamura asked.

“Yes...” He fastened the top on his water bottle, ready to complete the park circuit.

Iwaizumi-san’s holiday was always in August. In the past, the family had all gone away to visit relatives, it was only when at Seijou that Hajime had cried off, staying in Miyagi with Tooru so they could play.

_But if he’s not playing, then he won’t be training either._

“Oikawa?” Sawamura’s voice was distant.

_He won’t be there in August._

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I need ...” He shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. “Let’s run.”

***

**Oikawa Tooru- Setter – Second Team.**

“Brilliant!”

“You made it!”

“That’s fantastic, Tooru,” Suga said, and squeezed his arm. “I’m so pleased for you. And Morisuke, of course.”

He stared at the notice board, checking the names again. No Bokuto, but then he’d missed most of the week. And of the six of them, only he and Yaku had made the cut. And yet, Sawamura and Kuroo were by their sides, and slapping both on the back.

“I thought they’d have given you a chance, Sawamura.”

“I had to pull out. Need to go back to Miyagi and see my parents,” Sawamura said, his words strained. “Hey, Kuroo, you’re in the reserve pool.”

“Really?” Kuroo’s eyes slid down the list and he chuckled, running his finger over his name. “So, on the off chance that ... what ... six Middle Blockers are injured, I might get a ga- Oh!”

His tone had changed, and Tooru swivelled round to see what had caught his attention.

**Bokuto Koutarou – Wing Spiker – Pool.**

“He still has a chance, thank you,” Tooru whispered, offering up a prayer to the god of volleyball.

“Listen up!” Nakajima called. “If you’re on this list as a team member, then you’re expected to attend every practise from now on. If you know you can’t make them, then you have to tell us now. We need to form teams. This doesn’t mean you’ll miss out but it might mean you’re moved to the Pool. If you skip without letting us know, then you’re cut.” He cleared his throat. “First compulsory session is Sunday twenty-first.”

“So,” said Suga a while later as they sipped sodas. “Who’s getting in touch with Bokuto, to tell him to get his ass back in college?”

Tooru barely listened to the ensuing conversation. Every practise.

The tournament started seventh of August ending on the tenth.

The first lecture was on the fifteenth.

And the Iwaizumis’ holiday was always the middle two weeks in August. Without fail.

Volleyball, degree or Miyagi? Yaku had said.

_Tokyo or Iwa-chan?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's he gonna do? What's he gonna chose? EEEEEEK!
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter, beautifully timed for Christmas :D
> 
> (It's pure coincidence but one of those zeitgeist moments)


	38. In Full Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So ... Tooru's torn between Tokyo or Miyagi, and Hajime knows he needs to talk face to face with Tooru.
> 
> What fresh level of stupidity can these boys achieve?
> 
> Merry Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> negl, but a tear came to my eye when i reread the line six lines up from the end. 
> 
> This has been a rollercoaster of a story, and this chapter (flitting between two viewpoints) encapsulates the up and downness of these two most ridiculous boys. 
> 
> I love them!

“So, what you’re saying,” Matsukawa blasted, “is that having nagged me into checking out another team - don’t you _dare_ deny you nagged, Iwaizumi – you’re skipping practise and leaving me to face them alone.”

“Not alone ... exactly. You’ve met the guys now and ...” Hajime looked up from the ground, finished tightening his lace and hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “You got on okay with Azumane, didn’t you?”

“That’s beside the point,” Mattsun said and pouted his lips out, a sure sign he was displeased ... or about to take the piss. (It was a toss-up, and Hajime was never quite sure which way it would land.) “And ...” he continued. “Not only are you _deserting_ me, but you want a lift to the station.”

“Coach station,” Hajime qualified. “Shinkansen was full.” He grinned. “Come on, it’s for a good cause and it’ll get me off your back always moaning and stuff.”

Mattsun’s lips twitched. “You’re really going to sort this out?”

“Yup.” He inhaled sharply, his heart thumping hard, but he knew this was what he had to do. “Can’t procrastinate forever.”

“Even if ... there’s ... uh ... someone else.”

“Yeah.”

 

(“Someone else?” Hoshiyo had yelped, and giggled. “As much as my mother would love to believe it, he assured me he’s not interested in that girl.”

 _Girl?_ “Uh... yeah, it’s not.” He’d swallowed, feeling his cheeks flaming fiercer than before, and buried them in his hands. “I saw some pictures at a party.”

“Oh ... _that_!” Frowning, she’d opened up the app on her phone, scanning facebook. “He’s not tagged in them now. I got him to take it off, but he really... I mean it looked a little incriminating, but he said there was nothing in it.”

“But would he have told you even if there was?”

“Maybe not then, but he was pretty adamant that he was seeing no one.” She sucked on her lip. “Is it a deal-breaker? I mean, are you split up? Or –”

“I ...I don’t know, Hoshiyo-san. That’s the answer to both questions. I mean, I’m not sure we were ever officially together, you know, but we kind of drifted into it and then –”

“Oh, purlease!” Her face had creased into the most scornful of scowls, one he was more used to seeing on her brother’s face. “You two have been married since you were seven!” She’d leant closer, her lips hovering over her coffee cup rim. “If he’s snogged someone at a party, when he could well have been drunk, then is that game over?”

“He might want it to be.” He’d sniffed and searched for a handkerchief, his hand coming into contact with an envelope. “He’s written to me.”

“Shouldn’t you read it. Then at least you can stop torturing yourself.”)

 

The letter he’d read and reread, pouring over it at Hoshiyo’s and later on the way home.

 _‘Hajime’_ – the name he saved for intimate moments.

_‘I miss you.’_

_‘Tokyo is amazing, and I want you here next year – just as we planned- but even if that doesn’t happen, I want you back in my life.’_

“Mum!” he’d yelled when he got back. “If I went to Tokyo, would that cause a problem?”

“When?” she’d asked, flustered and flushed from cooking. “And why?”

He creased up his face, an apologetic grimace crossing it. “Uh, tonight, and to see Oikawa. Look, his sister bought the ticket, but I’ll pay her back. Is that okay?” He must have beamed because she mirrored him, then enveloped him in a hug.

“You’re happier than I’ve seen you in months, so of course it’s okay. But why tonight?”

“It’s his birthday tomorrow, Mum, and you know we always spend it together.”

 

“It’s a pretty big bag. Are you moving in?”

“Takeru’s present for Oikawa. And something from me. I’ve not packed much else. Don’t want to push it.”

“What about his sister? Has she got him nothing?”

“She bought my coach ticket.”

Laughing, Mattsun opened the car door. “You’re the gift. Should I buy some pretty ribbon to wrap you in?”

“Nope, just apologise to Ukai-san, for me, will you?”

 

The coach was full, mainly with students and those after a cheaper deal willing to travel through the night and arrive in Tokyo at gulp o’clock in the morning. Hajime boarded it, finding a seat by the window and laughed at Mattsun’s salute. If all went well he’d be in Tokyo by four, grab a taxi to Oikawa’s apartment, and surprise him.

Or shock him.

His breath hitched as the coach pulled away, and he wondered if he’d be able to breathe until he got to his destination. But his hand again furled around the letter and he thought about that ‘Hajime’.

And even if it was over. If their relationship changed, Hajime knew that what he’d miss most was their friendship. Oikawa and Iwa-chan. Imperfect, irrational, stuck together with the glue of history, and yet if it could remain intact, he’d reinforce that glue and treasure it forever.

_But I want ‘Tooru’ back, because fuck it I’ve missed you, too._

Somehow, despite the chatter around him, the glare of lamplights and the tchin-tchin-tchin of music escaping from earphones, he managed to doze, his head resting on his folded up Seijou training top, and his arms clutching Takeru’s gift.

 

(“You will remember to give it to him, won’t you, Iwa-chan-san?” he’d said, his eyes round and solemn as he stared up at him.

And Hajime had crouched down, ruffled his hair and then softly cuffed his ear. “Course I will. He’ll love it.”

“We must get him a present too, nii-san!” Koji cried.

“Yeah, we will. Don’t worry about that.”

“Or we could go with you,” Saburo said hopefully.

“It’s a very small apartment,” Hoshiyo said hurriedly, then gathered both boys to her, not in an embrace because she could see they’d hate it, but for a series of high fives, laughing as they bested her every time. “But maybe next time.”)

***

 

July the nineteenth, and Tooru walked back from college still with a spring in his step. He was part of the team. A term in and he’d made it, albeit as a reserve and one that might not make it onto court. But he would be there, and in all probability, if he’d made it, then Ushiwaka would as well.

He’d get another chance to take him down, but it was a raw team, not one practised, not one he had the measure of tyet.

Yet that thrilled him. The horizon was there before him. A new team, new teammates, an exciting, unchartered flight, and his wings were so ready to fly.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers flickering on Bokuto’s name, but then he scrolled past.

**[Kono-chan. I made the second team. Hope to see you at the tournament.]**

The answer came back as he waited at the bus stop.

**_[Congrats. I’ll see you there, but I’m a spectator. And Koutarou?]_ **

Tooru wondered about his reply, confide or breeze over, but then Konoha sent another text.

**_[I’m guessing as he’s not texted me, then he hasn’t been picked.]_ **

Okay. He might be the opposition, but he’s Bokkun’s friend.

**[He’s in the reserve pool.]**

**_[how’s he taking that?]_ **

Deep breath.

**[He doesn’t know. Bokuto’s not been at college for a week.]**

**_[Fuck!]_ **

**_[Is he ill?]_ **

**[I don’t know. he’s not been in touch, but he’s been under some stress.]**

**_[Fuck!]_ ** Konoha repeated.

**[Kuroo said he’d call him.]**

**_[Okay. I’ll see what I can do.]_ **

**[Really? You’re the opposition!]**

**_[He’s still my friend. My captain, and I want him to succeed.]_ **

**[Thank you.]**

His bus arrived, Tooru paid and walked to the back, nestling next to the window.

 

His phone was silent. No one wanting or needing his attention, and he briefly wondered whether to call Makki, check in and accept the teasing that he was calling only because it was his birthday eve. His hint dropping was legendary – Mattsun said it would start on July 21st – hammering it into them that there were three hundred and sixty three days until the next birthday.

Despite the teasing, the ‘really, your birthday? Who knew?, and the ‘if you mention it’s your birthday one more time I’ll fucking deck you’ they’d always come good, and he’d celebrated every year with friends, with family, and always with Iwa-chan.

Briefly his mind flittered to the days before he’d met Iwa-chan. His seventh birthday when they’d arrived back in Japan, and he’d started a city school in Tokyo. He’d been the weird kid, one whose English was better than his Japanese, with an odd accent. Age seven, he’d forgone a party for a family meal.

 _And that had been strained,_ he thought. Hoshiyo in all her stroppy sixteen year old self hadn’t wanted to be there, her eyes flicking to the window her mouth drooping in a perpetual sulk. But his parents had been jolly enough, his dad in particular had taken the day off to take him round the zoo, pointing out penguins and iguanas and buying him a large ice cream covered in sprinkles.

Hoshiyo had been so _angry_ that day, he remembered. But no one had talked about it, at least not when he’d been around. She’d been angry at coming back to Japan, leaving all her friends and having to start over again.

She must have been the weird kid, too, he guessed. Except, in her case, her weirdness had been seen as cool, and she’d rapidly become popular. Settling in Miyagi, sent to Seijou for her final year, she’d lost her sulkiness and basked in the relative celebrity that living abroad had given her.

His eighth birthday and he’d known no one except Hajime.

“I want him to spend the day with us, Mummy.”

“He can come round in the morning, yes.”

“No,” he’d been adamant. “The whole day. I want to wake up with Iwa-chan!”

A tradition started on a whim, one his mother could easily have vetoed, but she’d agreed – perhaps distracted – and had found no reason to stop the sleepover the following year. Iwa-chan had slept in his room, a little grumpy at being woken up so early, but had sat politely through breakfast, stifling his yawns.

Getting off the bus, Tooru hoisted his bag firmly over his shoulder and trudged his way back to the apartment. In the distance, he heard a catcall, and he jumped, startled at the memory. He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no one actively following him. He was, bar two old women chuntering about the state of the world, the only pedestrian, his way lit by the stream of car headlights illuminating his path.

There was post waiting, mostly for his father, but one or two  were for him. Cards, he thought, judging their shape and weight, and he stared closer, analysing each stroke of the pen.

 _Grandma – always early,_ he thought. _And that looks like Kindaichi’s handwriting._

And really what could he expect?  I never made it back for his. I didn;t bother in time to make amends, or to find out what the heck was going on, so why should he bother about me now?

Except ... he always had in the past. Even his tenth birthday when it had pelted down with rain, his mum’s car had been in the garage, and Iwaizumi-san had been working a night shift, Iwa-chan had biked over arriving drenched, and scowling, but still there, and soon his gap-toothed smile had appeared with the exhilaration of the exercise.

No chance now.

He unlocked his door. It was still light outside, so he stared out of the window, watching as  Tokyo hummed into life – a different life – one for the party goers and tourists, one where you sought company.  Not the life where you sat in an empty apartment, with the TV for company and watched.

 _When did I become this person?_ he wondered.

***

Tooru’s voice on the phone had wobbled a little when he’d explained. “Mum’s car’s in the garage, and Dad isn’t back yet. Can _your_ Dad bring you?”

The twins had been splashing in the bath, their happy shrieks carrying through the apartment, joining in the song their Mum was singing.

“He’s working,” Hajime had muttered, trying to keep the well of disappointment out of his voice. “And Mum can’t leave the twins.”

In the bag by his feet, he’d stuffed a present for Tooru – an extra one. Not just the volleyball book his Mum had bought, but a Star Wars keyring, a small R2D2 that lit up when you pressed it.

“Why did the car have to break down today!” Tooru complained. “It won’t be a proper birthday without you.” The sigh reached Hajime’s ears, and then a resolved sniff. “Iwaizumi-san can bring you over tomorrow, can’t he?”

“Yes... probably.” He glanced out of the window, the sky was darkening, but it was still light, and the roads would be clear. He could ... “Hey, how about I bike it?”

“Really? Are you allowed?”

“Sure!” he’d bluffed. “See you soon.”

Hanging up, Hajime had torn back to his room to pick up the key to his bike chain, then yelled out a goodbye to his Mum, telling her ‘Hoshiyo-neesan’s here’ and he’d run out the apartment. He’d biked to Oikawa’s before, but never this late, and as he rounded the corner, he felt the first fat drops of rain falling on his jacket.

 

 _Fuck, I got in so much trouble for that stunt,_ he chuckled, remembering his mother’s anger and the stern talking-to his father had given him. Grounded for a week, he’d been unable to attend any practises. Yawning, Hajime stretched out again, and checked his watch. It was coming up to three. An hour more and he’d be in Tokyo. _At least this time it’s not raining._

His eyelids were heavy, drooping down, and he settled back hoping to snatch a little more sleep. But then, just as he was drifting back into a dream, the coach, with a grind and scrape of gears, slowed to a halt. Thinking it was a rest stop, he kept his eyes closed, but the kerfuffle around him, a hum of voices reaching a crescendo, he tore them open.

And blinked.

It wasn’t a rest stop. They weren’t at a service station.

“What’s happening?”

“We’ve broken down,” a girl said, getting to her feet. “The driver said we need to get off the coach while he tries to see what’s wrong.”

“Really?” He stifled a yawn.

She nodded, then tentatively smiled. “Would you get my jacket down for me? Only it’s been pushed right to the back of the overhead compartment, and I can’t reach.”

“Uh, sure. Do we need to take everything with us?”

“Not sure. But my luggage is stowed underneath.”

“Oh, right.” He rubbed his eyes, tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, then fished in the locker for her jacket. “Here you go.”

She smiled sweetly, then twisted away, wriggling down the centre aisle. Gathering up his belongings, Hajime put on his Seijou jacket, and packed up Takeru’s gift, tightening the strings on his bag.

Four was too early, even for Oikawa, and they’d be on their way soon, surely.

Fuck.

It was four-thirty am, and although he knew it was an impossible ‘how long is a piece of string?’ question, Hajime still asked it.

“How long is this going to take?”

“No idea,” the driver replied. “Look, I’ve called the breakdown service, and they’re on their way. And if that doesn’t work, then the company can send a replacement bus. Don’t worry, it won’t cost you anymore.”

“But I have a connection,” a woman fumed. “My next coach leaves at six-thirty.”

“There’s not much I can do. Compensation’s available,” their driver replied, keeping remarkably cool in the sea of the seething faces.

“You could call for a replacement bus now,” Hajime replied.

“Let’s wait for the mechanics. Company procedure,” the driver informed them. He stepped away, and back to the bus. “You could try a cab, if you’re that desperate.”

The woman who needed to take another coach, shot the driver a dark look, but reached for her phone.

Hajime sat on the ground. Several passengers had formed groups, some had wandered off to the nearby small town, already giving up on completing their journey as they headed towards a sleazy looking hotel in the distance, its neon lights disrupting the early morning light.

“I’m going to get a taxi,” the woman announced. “Who wants to share the cost?” She didn’t look Hajime’s way, no doubt deeming he wouldn’t be able to afford it (she was right) and twenty minutes later, she and a couple of women, waved their farewells to the abandoned coach.

Five-fifteen and the breakdown truck arrived, two mechanics, taking a look, tutting extensively, before fetching their tools. Hajime pulled out his phone, checking for any messages and tried not to despair.

_Okay, I’m an hour from Tokyo, and if I get a cab to Oikawa’s then I should get there by seven. Not quite waking up together, but we can argue over breakfast._

He took a breath, feeling the cool morning air infiltrate his lungs. His heart rate had risen again, and the thought of breakfast set his stomach clawing.  

The time ticked on, half-past five, quarter to six, six o’clock -

_Thrrrummmmmm!_

“Okay, we’re ready to go,” the driver cried. “All aboard!”

At-bloody-last.

They were on the way. He was on his way, and his heart might have been thumping from his chest and into his throat, painful and restricting, but he relished the proof he was alive and not merely existing.

At six-thirty-five his phone vibrated.

**[Wish Oikawa a Happy Birthday from me, will you?]**

**_[You’ve got an early start]_ **

**[Going for a jog]** Mattsun typed. **[Didn’t expect you to answer so quickly.]**

**_[Coach broke down. Not there yet. A jog? YOU!!!!]_ **

**[Bad luck. And yes, I do take exercise occasionally.]**

**_[By yourself?]_ **

**[Nope. I’m meeting Azumane. We both realised we’re very unfit since leaving school. Can’t have those Old Geezers outplaying us.]**

**_[Have fun.]_ **

**[You too. And good luck.]**

 

***

In Miyagi, Tooru had slept with his curtains open on his birthday eve, wanting to wake as soon as he could so he could make the most of his special day. But here in Tokyo, exhaustion aching at him, he pulled the curtains together, checking every inch of a gap. Tomorrow was a normal day. He’d sleep, jog, and see who was at practise. That was all.

But sleep wouldn’t come. When he closed his eyes, the ghosts of birthdays past swam before him. His eighth birthday – the one where his father had skipped out to phone Gashuko – they’d left the restaurant in almost morbid silence.

Stop!

_Volleyball. College. Tokyo._

He’d never been the most effusive of friends, letting Tooru do most of the talking, but he knew what to say when it mattered, and also what not to say. So Iwa-chan hadn’t ‘asked’ what was wrong, but leaving the restaurant, he’d accepted Tooru’s hand in his, squeezing it tight, and then held their clasped hands high, turning it into a game.

Back at the house, he and Iwa-chan had cut two more slices of cake and defied his mother to eat them in his room. They could have watched a DVD, but instead they’d sat on the floor, flicking through manga, and telling dumb jokes.

Being a grown up sucks. And no matter how much he crammed his head with memories, nothing could take him back.

_Volleyball. College. Tokyo._

_I need to sleep. I can’t have another night ruminating on all of this. I’ve made the team!  This is good. This is ..._

He got up and padded to the kitchen, wondering if warm milk would help. It was darker now, office lights on a Friday night having finally dimmed. Or Saturday morning, he realised, checking the microwave clock.

 _Happy Birthday to me._ He toasted his window reflection with his mug. _My special day!_

The urge to giggle overwhelmed him. He felt it rise from his belly, erupting out of his throat, full yet rasping, manic in its unpredictability. He laughed at the preposterousness of it all. _Special Day_ , and yet he was doing nothing, and no one here in Tokyo had any idea. Perhaps this was what growing up meant. Moving on, letting go of childish things.

Letting go of friends and dreams, and that rasping kiss in his neck, when Hajime curled around him in the mornings.

And the trouble with laughter, was that now he couldn’t stop, and the milk he’d heated, slopped over the rim of the mug to drip on the floor. But at least no one could hear him, at least no one would complain about the noise or yell at him to shut the fuck up.

He’d wanted his own space – not halls, not if Iwa-chan wouldn’t be there to walk the corridors with him – and in the end his mum had persuaded his dad to let him use the apartment. Or something like that. What had his Dad said? That she’d not wanted him to live here?

Whatever. He’d welcomed the solitude at first, determined to concentrate purely on volleyball and his course, to shut himself away and reject all offers of friendship. Of course Suga had smiled and pulled a feint to get through his wall, followed by Bokuto blasting his way in to Tooru’s life with all the force of a spike.

_Bokuto Koutarou, you have to come back to college. Not just for volleyball, but who the hell else will come with me to see dumbass movies and let me pinch all the popcorn?_

_I should call him again._

_But if Yaku’s right, then he needs time to miss volleyball._

_But if I’m right, then maybe he thinks none of us care?_

_What do I know?_

Instead of going back to bed, he meandered to the lounge. It was his birthday, he could do what he liked, especially as there was no one here to nag him to sleep, to tell him he had to take care, that he mustn’t over train, that ...

He powered up his laptop, nostalgia overwhelming him, and clicked on Pictures. Two folders appeared – one was the holiday when he’d first had a phone, the other shared shots with his family. He waited for the others, waited for the Seijou match photographs, waited for the few photographs he’d scanned in from Kitigawa Daiichi, waited for the dumb folder called Selfies, waited most of all for the Folder titled Iwa-chan, for years of birthdays and ordinary days, because when it came to it every day with Iwa-chan had been a Special Day. 

But they didn’t appear and Kozume’s warning that some of the data could have been corrupted, sounded in his ears.

He’d lost the folders. The fountain had washed away the tangible proof of his memories. And there was nothing now.

His head spinning, Tooru sat on the futon, curled his feet underneath him and flicked on the television, settling down to watch a sci-fi film.  Soon his eyelids were drooping, but he didn’t move back to his bedroom, pulling the throw over his body as he stretched out.

***

Tokyo. He’d made it. Seven thirty. If he found a cab immediately, he could be at Oikawa’s soon after eight. Although, as Hajime shielded his eyes from the morning sun, he saw the traffic and groaned. How could anything move in this jam?

***

A hand grasped his, twisting it behind his back, applying pressure, and he knew it should hurt, he knew what was coming next but the only thing that made him flinch was the insistent hoarse voice rasping in his ear _‘What do you think would happen if you broke your arm. pretty-boy?’_

Suga’s on the ground, blood spurting out of his nose, and Tooru can’t move, his reaction’s too slow, and all the while he can hear the cry, the mantra ‘Coward! Coward! Coward!’

And then it’s not Suga on the floor but Iwa-chan, and he’s not quiet but roaring his pain. There’s no blood spurting, there’s no figure looming over him, getting a last kick in, but Tooru’s still powerless. He’s in the changing room and his feet won’t move. He’s stuck in glue, a glue of self-pity. The fog of envy swirls around him, spite and jealousy hold him back, and yet the only sound he can hear is the keening of his wounded friend.

But it’s not Iwa-chan injured. It’s not Suga writhing on the ground. Tooru looks down and now it’s him, his knee bulbous and yet the pain is in his shoulder, and blood spurts from his head.

The scene switches and he’s in a bed. A hospital bed, and he looks to the chair at his bedside, waiting for the voice that will tell him it’s going to be okay.

But it’s empty.

“NOOO!”

The TV was still on, a solemn newsreader gave way to an enthusiastic weather forecaster, assuring everyone that the good weather would remain for another week. Somewhere, blearily, Tooru saw the pollution warning flare on the screen.

And that decided him. The numbers and graphic imprinted themselves before his eyes, and they span in front of him, the colours merging until they were white and blue and pale yellow, and now he wasn’t in Tokyo, but standing on a jetty watching as a boy turned at the rocks. Tooru could pinpoint the moment Hajime had seen him, or rather had realised just who was standing there. There’d been a hesitation in his stride, and then a slight speed up, before he settled back into a measured, but slightly self-conscious pace.

_He’d hidden the doctor’s appointment from me. That’s why he didn’t come to Tokyo to look round. And ..._

Getting up, not bothering even with coffee, Tooru ran to the bathroom, scrubbed his teeth hard until his gums bled, and splashed water over his face.  He debated transport. _Train is quick, coach uncomfortable._

 _But there’s always traffic, I’ll miss both if I don’t get there in time._ He picked up his car keys _. I’ll drive._

Decision made, he could slow a little, but the impetus remained, so Tooru grabbed a case, stuffed it with clothes, then pulled on jeans and a tee.

Practises are compulsory – Nakajima’s voice bellowed in his ear.

_Volleyball or Iwa-chan._

And why did he ever think he had any other choice?

***

Tokyo was everything Hajime had thought it would be. Loud and fast paced. Cars slow as they were caught up in traffic, and pedestrians streaming across the pavements, regimented despite the weekend, there was no time to stop and stare. The queue for a cab was long, so he started to walk towards the bus stop, passing a Patisserie on his way. Croissants. _Yeah, a perfect birthday breakfast! And I’ll get juice, too._

***

“WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!” Tooru yelled. He removed the key, glared at it before wiping on his jacket, then tried the ignition again. But the car refused to start. It coughed and spluttered, then gave up the ghost. “NO NO NOOOO! Why are you ...” He slammed his head on the steering wheel. “Petrol. DUMBASS ASSIKAWA! FORGETTING PETROL!”

Grabbing his case, he sprinted out the garage and down the road. Despite the encumbrance of luggage, he could still run, and if he cut across the park, he might just make it to the station in time. And if not ... he’d dash back with a can of petrol and be on his way.

***

Hajime stared up at the block in front of him. Befitting the Oikawas, the apartment was in a good area of Tokyo, the street clean and relatively quiet. He looked around, hoping he didn’t look as suspicious as he felt. With very little sleep and unkempt clothes, he knew he must be an incongruous figure in such a neighbourhood, so he clutched the bag of pastries up to his chest and hoped the name emblazoned on the front would get the apartment concierge to think kindly of him.

“Can I help you?” came the disembodied voice.

“I’m here to visit Oikawa Tooru,” he replied into the intercom.

“Is he expecting you?”

“Uh, no, it’s a surprise.” He paused and leant closer. “It’s his birthday.”

He heard a resigned sigh, but she buzzed him through. “I should check he’s in. May I take a name?”

“Uh ...” He tried a smile, but he must have looked intimidating because she shrank back from him. “It’s a surprise. I know him from home, and I’m a family friend, I promise. Can you ... um ... tell him there’s a package or something?”

“I suppose I could,” she said, a little warily, and started to dial. “It’s ringing.”

Holding the phone between the crook of her shoulder and neck, she continued to tap something into her keyboard, flashing him the occasional look. “Sorry, she said at last. “He doesn’t seem to be in.”

“Oh.” The anticlimax hit him, face dropping.

 The receptionist took pity on him. “He does go jogging though, so might be back soon. You can wait if you’d like and I’ll see if I can find out ... Oh, Mira-san?”

“Yes.” Another receptionist, older with glasses and hair piled into a raven bun, poked her head out of the office.

“Did you notice what time Oikawa-kun left this morning? Only he has a visitor.”

The older woman smiled, her face indulgent, and Hajime was hard pushed not to laugh as he imagined them all fondly in love with ‘Oikawa-kun’.

He stopped smiling when she spoke though.

“He’s gone away,” she replied. “He had a bag with him.”

“AWAY! How do you know? It might have been a sport’s bag.”

“No it was a case. One with wheels.” She smiled again. “It had aliens on it.”

“OH FUCK!” He gaped at them. “SORRY! Shit, I shouldn’t have sworn. When did he go? Where did he go. How do I get there?”

“About quarter of an hour, I’d say,” the older woman said, bristling.

“Car? Was he taking his car?”

The younger receptionist clearly heard the urgency and desperation. She flicked a switch on her computer, and scanned the screen. “His car’s in the car park, so he must have walked, or taken the bus. But ... um ... I have no idea where he’s going.”

He got his phone out, (sod the surprise) and dialled.

_Come on, come on, come on, pick up!_

_‘You’ve reached the answer service of Oikawa Tooru. I’m either playing volleyball or or I’ve been abducted by aliens, so please leave a message and I’ll call when I’m back in your dimension.’_

“FUCK! Shit, I’m sorry. So sorry,” he mumbled, shame faced at both receptionists, who’d probably never let him back in.

But they belied their stiff appearance, and both laughed, raising their hands as he dashed out the door.

“Good luck finding him!”

He had his phone. Okay, it was fucking useless in most respects, but it could still make calls.

“MATTSUN, HELP!”

“What?” Mattsun was panting.

“OIKAWA’S LEFT!”

“WHAAAAAAAT? Calm down. Iwaizumi, breathe, what are you talking about?”

“He’s packed a bag,” Hajime explained. “Left for the station, I think. But I don’t know where and ... HELP!”

“Have you called him?”

“What kind of fucking dumbass do you think I am? Of course I’ve fucking called him. Three fucking times now but he’s not fucking picking up! I don’t know where the fucking train station is, or if he’s even going by train.”

“Got it. Hold on.”

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Makki. He can try him, while I work out where you need to go.”

“Haaaa – you’re a good friend.”

A pause, possibly only a second or three, but it felt like a year.

“I got Makki. Calm down. Make yourself beautiful or something.”

***

Tooru’s case was easier to pull than carry, but the trouble was the wheels did not like the dry grass, sticking in the tufts and over a dust bump.

“Quack quack!”

“Not now, Mad-Duck-chan,” Tooru chirped, dodging as the duck flapped its wings. “I’ll bring you some bread next time I’m here. From Miyagi, I promise.”

He was about to speed up when his phone rang. He nearly ignored it, but the tone was known to him. Besides he could run and talk, he wasn’t out of breath.

“Makki,” he said. “Is it urgent?”

“Hey, RUDE!” Makki’s voice laughed down the phone. “And here I am, up at a ridiculously early time just to talk to you.”

“Ha ... okay ... yes ... only ... I’m in a bit of a rush, so –”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUU  
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUUU  
HAPPY BIRTHDAY OIKAWAAAAAAAA  
HAPPY BIRTHDAY UH  TOOOOO-RUUUUUU!

“See what I did there?”

“Yes, yes, lovely.” He was grinning; despite the urgency, he felt warm. “You’re the first person today, Makki-chan, so thank you very much.”

“And I have a beautiful voice, right?”

“Beautiful,” Tooru lied. “Anyway, thanks again, but I really have to –”

“Aww, can’t you spare some time. Just a little bit.”

“Well, I can talk and walk, I guess. Or run.”

“Why where are you?”

“Park.”

“Jogging?”

“No, I’m ... uh ...”

“OOOH, mysterious.”

“It’s a secret, so if I tell you, then you mustn’t tell anyone.”

“Sure, sure. “His voice sounded distracted. “Park, eh? Many near you?”

“A few. I’m not jogging, though, but on my way to the station.”

“Station?”

“Yes, yes. Makki I’ve been trying to tell you.” God, was he dumb? “Look, don’t tell anyone, but I’m coming home.”

“HOME!”

***

“He’s in a park, heading to the station,” Mattsun rifled at him.

Hajime span round examining signposts, mind frantic. “Okay, I’m ... looking at one, but there’s another the other way.”

“Hold on.”  Mattsun held the phone away from his ear, and at the other end, Hajime could hear him tapping something. “SHIT!”

“What!”

“He’s told Makki he’s going home. He’s headed to Miyagi.”

“Whaaaaat!”

“OH MY DAYS!” Mattsun was laughing. “What the fuck are you two like?”

“NOT FUNNY!” Hajime howled. “WHERE IS HE?”

***

“So ...” Makki drawled. “Do you need a lift? I can pick you up?”

“Um, yes, probably. Although I can call Mum, or Neesan.”

“Nah, I’ll do it. That way you can surprise them. Where from and what time?”

“Not sure ‘til I get there.”

“Huh?”

“Not bought a ticket. This is ...” He sped up. “Unplanned. I’ll text you when I’ve got a train.”

“Definitely train, then?”

“Shinkansen, if possible. There’s one in twenty minutes.”

***

“Bullet train!  Go go go, Hajime! It leaves in twenty.”

“I won’t get there in time! Fuck this!”

“Don’t give up. I’ve gotta plan.”

“Unless that plan involves a magic fucking broomstick, then I’m screwed.”

“Leave it to Me. And Makki.” Mattsun chuckled, and if Hajime hadn’t known he was out jogging, he’d have imagined him reclining in a chair with a big fat cigar in his mouth.

***

Makki was being a pain, and not taking any hints. “Oikawa, you won’t get there in time.”

“If I speed up, then I will. Look I’ll call you la-” he tried to insist.

“You need a reservation!” Makki screamed. “They won’t let you on unless you have a seat.”

Tooru slowed, coming to a halt in the middle of the green. “Really?”

“Yeah, you can’t stand, and the schools have finished so it’ll be full,” Makki replied, his voice slowing.

“Oh.”

“Maybe go home and book one for tomorrow, or something...” he suggested.

“Tomorrow. Hmm, maybe ... although.”

“What.”

“Coastal route. Takes a lot longer, but I have time to kill. See you there, Makki!”

***

“Ohhh-kay, the good news is Makki’s talked him out of the Shinkansen,” Mattsun said.

“And the bad news?”

“He’s going to take the coast train. There’s one leaves in half an hour.”

“Can’t Makki delay him?”

“He’s hung up. The bright side is he’s desperate to come home.”

“BUT I’M IN TOKYO! He’ll probably think I’m here with the fucking volleyball team again!”

“Calm down!” Makki ordered. He was muttering something, but not to Hajime. “Yeah, sorry, he’s a bit irate. I’ll be with you in a ... oh ... Hold on. Yeah, good idea.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?”

“We’re setting up another decoy,” Mattsun replied.

“We? He’s not talking to Makki.”

“Yeah, it’s not Makki helping. What you need is an ally in Tokyo, and Azumane-kun knows just the guy.”

“Azumane? Oh, yeah, you’re jogging with him.”

“Leave him to make a call. And get to the station. I can text you directions.”

 “It’s okay, I know the way. I’ll sprint.”

“He’s running, too.”

“Yeah, but when have I ever lost a race to Oikawa Tooru,” Hajime laughed, exhilarated.

***

“Bloody stupid thing!” Tooru yelled at his case.  The stupid, kiddy case with dumbass aliens plastered on it, and dumb bloody stupid, _stupid_ wheels THAT HAD JUST BROKEN! He kicked it, then feeling a pain stub his toe, he growled instead, and picked it up. Fifteen minutes until the train left. He could make it in ten, just in time to buy a ticket and sprint for the train.

 _I can rest when I’m on it,_ he thought grimly and continued to run.

He didn’t slow as he reached the main street, but ran on, barging through the pedestrians and shouting apologies. The station was dead ahead, he could see the glass walls glinting in the sunlight.

And then a hand reached out grabbing his wrist, and a cold fear plummeted through him. He span round, dropping the case on the ground. _Kato._

“Hey!”

The relief was instant, dissipated by that sunniest of smiles.

“Kou-chan!”

“Tooru, what are you doing here?”

“Ha, can’t stop, I’m going to Miyagi,” he said and tried to wrench free.

But Suga wasn’t letting go. It was like he hadn’t heard as he tugged him to the side of the pavement. “Coffee?”

“Um, no I have a train –”

“I took your advice and decided to start jogging,” Suga babbled. “And it’s such a glorious day, don’t you think? And not too hot. I should really have come out with you earlier.” He linked his arm into Tooru’s forcing him in a different direction.

“That’s great, Suga, but I must go. I’ll miss my -”

“My mum’s here, and Chiharu. Like I said, she’s dying to meet you and keeps asking when she can meet you –”

If he didn’t buy a ticket at the station, maybe he could do it online on the actual train, but he had to go now.

“Sorry, Koushi,” he said, and pushed him away. “I have to go. Tell your sister I’ll meet her another time. I promise!”

“Tooru ...come back!” Suga yelled, sounding plaintive.

But when Tooru looked around, Suga - curiously – was on his phone.

***

“He’s escaped the decoy. Just fucking run!” Mattsun yelped. “I’ll get Makki to try again.”

“HOW!”

“I’ll THINK OF SOMETHING!”

***

“Makki, I can’t talk!”

“No, you must listen. I don’t think it’s a good idea you coming back.”

“What?” He stopped, and span on his heel. “Why?”

“I’ve been talking to Issei.”

“Yes, good, I’m glad you’re speaking, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“He’s been talking to Hajime.”

“And?”

“Look, Hajime’s ... uh ... upset. He needs to cool down.”

“Why? What’s up with him?”

“You. It’s ... uh ... you.”

“He’s had a term to calm down. So have I. This is why I’m coming back to sort things out. Makki, I adore you, but you’re being ridiculous!”

“OIKAWA, STOP!” Makki yelled. “He thinks you’ve got someone else!”

“What...”

 “Uh ... some ... one ... from a party?” he said, sounding hesitant. “He saw a picture on facebook.”

“Party? What? No. NOOOOOOO. There was no one. Makki, please please, _please,_ you have to tell him nothing happened.”

“Really?” the voice had gone a bit distant, as if Makki wasn’t concentrating entirely on the call. “Only the photo ... looked as if you might have been ... kissing.”

“Whoa, did not know that!” Tooru thought Makki muttered.

“NO! NOTHING HAPPENED. Please, Makki, get hold of Iwa-chan, tell him it wasn’t like that! Tell him there’s no one else, and never was. It’s only been him. Tell him –”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” a voice rasped from the right.

Tooru glanced over, hearing yet not believing. “Iw-” the words wouldn’t come. He gulped down the lump in his arid throat. “Ha- Hajime?”

“WOOOHOOOO!” Makki screeched in Tooru’s ear.

“YOU MADE IT!” Mattsun yelled at Hajime. “KISS! KISS! KISS!”

“Yeah,” wheezed Hajime. “Thanks, guys. I got this.”

He switched off the phone and held out his arms. “H-Happy Birthday, Tooru.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you celebrate Christmas, then here's my present to you. If you don't, then enjoy and have an early saying goodbye to 2017 gift.
> 
> Thank you for all your reads, comments and kudos.


	39. Flock together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So ... they're finally face to face. Will they kiss or yell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the chapters where the M (Mature) rating is used.

Time slowed.

There were people rushing past, striding their way forwards in their lives, the hustle and bustle of the city ramming into his shoulders.

But at that moment.

In those seconds – those precious few seconds – when the gap was breeched and the aching distance of the past four months was closed as he strode forwards – Time slowed.

He stared into his eyes, saw the realisation that this was no fallacy, and knew that was mirrored in his own. Colour flared in his cheeks, crimsoning under the touch of fingertips, tracing planes on his face, the awe of each other’s presence not dulled in the slightest by the familiarity of eleven years.

A jolt to his shoulder from a passerby. A reminder they were not alone, that this was not the place, that above all they had to be circumspect because a hug was one thing, a kiss on the cheek could be ignored, but...

Lips touched lips. Fingers carded hair and two bodies pressed together, hard and soft as they began the exploration of each other, and made free with the memories of all they had been.

Had been.

_Would still be,_ he thought. _Yes, would still be._

His lips were drier, but parted easily, willingly, teeth nipping a touch, and all the while, he could feel a thumb on his cheek and then the mouth meandering to his neck.

“Hey,” he whispered thickly, finally breaking apart for air.

Hajime and Tooru foreheads touching, smiled deep at each other.

“THEY’RE KISSING!” shrieked someone.

“So fucking what,” Hajime growled.

“It’s okay.” Tooru chuckled. “That catcaller’s on our side. Iwa-chan,” he said, turning his face to the side, and smiling at someone in the crowd, “Meet Sugawara Koushi.”

“Asahi, why are _you_ crying?” Suga was saying to his phone. His eyes were wide and sparkling, mouth curved up into a sunbeam smile. “Pass me over to Matsukawa-san. You’re making no sense.”

He was turning on the pavement, twisting around, hair shining in the sun like a halo. “It was a very good kiss. I should have taken a photo,” the non-angel said. “Yes, I’ll make sure ... Oh, do you want to speak to them now.” Suga laughed and held out his phone. “Tooru? Iwaizumi-san?”

“How ... How ... Why are you here, Koushi?” Tooru asked, bewildered.

Hajime’s reached for Tooru, entwining their fingers, tight as if he’d never let go. “Uh, you’re who Azumane called, right? The ... um ... decoy.”

“That’s right,” Suga agreed. He gurgled a laugh, and then spoke into the phone. “I think they’re a bit busy to talk, and by the look on both their faces, I should probably disappear now. Lovely speaking to you, Matsukawa-san. Pass on the good news to Hanamaki-san, will you?”

And he darted away, quicksilver hair flashing, and an irrepressible giggle on the breeze.

“Makki, too?” Tooru said. “Oh, of course. That’s why he kept calling.”

“I did try,” Hajime admitted, “but it went straight to voicemail.” He pulled back a little. In his hands was the brown paper bag, and feeling a little stupid, especially as he could truly take in how busy this entrance to the station was, he thrust them at Tooru. “Uh, I brought breakfast.”

And it was a small gesture, not one a bridge could normally be built on, but Tooru’s hand shook accepting the package. “Croissants?”

“Yeah, predictable, right?”

“Perfect.” Tooru sniffed and opened the bag. “Want one now? There’s a bench over there. We could sit and -” Hajime’s hand twisted in Tooru’s fingers again. “Or do you want to go straight to the apartment.”

“Yeah,” Hajime murmured. “That one.”

He tugged Tooru back into his arms, turning him around so they faced each other again, and planted another kiss on his cheek, smoothing to his mouth, nuzzling Tooru’s lips. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too,” Tooru sniffled.

“You’ve missed you, too,” Hajime teased, _very_ gently, and pecked a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“You know what I mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru protested, his smile wobbling.

“I always know,” Hajime whispered, and taking a breath, he picked up his bag. “Come on.”

 

Tooru kept up a stream of chatter as they walked, voice barely faltering as he pointed out his favourite patisserie, or the cafe he’d had awful noodles at, the shop that sold the best milk-pan in the universe, and – “That’s where I got the stickers for the Chibis...” He blinked. “Um ... did they get them?”

“Eventually,” Hajime replied, his mouth a firm straight line. “Sorry, but we only got the package yesterday.”

“UGH! Awful post.”

“Not really. We ... um ... we’ve moved.”

“WHAT!” He gripped Hajime tighter, this shock apparently too much, holding him firm in case he shifted too. “Why?”

“Ha ... well ... it’s  ... um ... like this -”

“And why didn’t Makki tell me? Or Mattsun? I know you have a different phone, but moving? They should have said!”

“Oikawa!”

“Sorry.” Tooru stopped frowning. “I can’t believe you live somewhere else now and I had no idea. What else has happened? Have Koji and Saburo left school and got jobs? Have you moved far? Is it out of Miyagi? Oh, do you have a garden? Is it a bigger place? Or is it ... uh ... things are okay, aren’t they? It’s not -”  He gasped. “Yo -your parents, they’re well, aren’t they? You’d have told me if –”

Hajime placed two fingers over Tooru’s lips, stopping the babbling. “Mum’s having a baby,” he said, and grinned, a wide grin, showing his teeth and the corners of his eyes crinkled upwards too. “You’re going to be a ... a ... brother, uncle, um, what are to Koji and Sab?”

“Their _better_ big brother!” Tooru said carelessly, and then he breathed in sharply. “A BABY! OH MY GOODNESS!  A NEW IWA-CHAN!” He started to laugh, span round taking Hajime with him. “Or new Iwa-chan-chans. Is it twins? Triplets! Tell Iwa-chan- obasan  that Tooru is a lovely name.”

“Stop it.” Hajime was laughing, his hands high in the air, then landing on Tooru’s shoulders. “I don’t think they’re going to choose Tooru.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s only one Tooru, and maybe they want something more unique.”

“Then Shirou,” Tooru gabbled. “Fourth son and – ” He focused on Hajime, seeing a flicker on his lips. “Or … Shiori?” He pounced. “Is it a girl? Is Iwa-chan- obasan having a beautiful girl?”

“Shhh, not so loud. Yes, she is. But it’s a secret.” He grinned and held Tooru closer, gripping his arms. “How the hell do you always manage to worm everything out of me, Oikawa Tooru?”

“Ha – I know you, Iwa-chan. I know everything about you –” He stopped, a miniscule cloud shadowing his face, but he tossed it away, not wanting to think right now, not on his birthday, not when Iwa-chan was here. Instead, Tooru clutched hold of his case, and grabbed Hajime’s hand, tugging him across the road. “The park I run in is over there. I have to introduce you to my favourite duck!”

Both receptionists were in the atrium when they arrived back, and the pair of them smiled a greeting, the younger one calling out a cheery ‘hello’ to Tooru as he dashed past. He grabbed Hajime’s hand and waited by the lift for all of five seconds, before declaring it was quicker to walk. Taking the stairs two or three at a time, they reached the top, and both laughing collapsed against the apartment door.

“This is like the old days,” Tooru said, remembering those times the lift had broken down in the Iwaizumis’ tenement block. “You always won then, too!”

“God of the wind,” Hajime agreed, puffing. “Fuck, I was fitter in those days.”

“You look fit to me,” Tooru murmured with a sly wink. Then he froze. “Your knee is okay, isn’t it? Maybe we shouldn’t have run up five flights. Sorry, that really was a dumb, dumb thing to do.”

“Hey, I’m fine.” Hajime got to his feet, and flexed his leg, bending then unbending his injured knee. “It’s healed. No twinges.”

“Good.” Tooru fumbled in his pocket for the apartment keys, unlocked the door, and then stood aside to let Hajime in. “Welcome to Casa Oikawa, my home for the past four months. The view is good, the neighbours too quiet, and most of the time I have it completely to myself.”

“You do?”

“Mmm, Dad stays over occasionally,” he said and tried hard not to tighten his lips. But by the flicker of Hajime’s eyebrow, he’d noticed the sudden stiffness. “Oh, and Neesan visited with Takeru over Golden Week, Uh ... I think he might have ... um used my phone and -”

“Yeah, I know.” Hajime dropped his bag to the floor and crouched down to pull on the draw string. “I saw them yesterday – your Mum, too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Wow, it really was only yesterday. Uh, anyway,” he said, pulling out a present, badly wrapped with – it seemed - more tape than paper. “This is for you from Takeru. I’ve been told you have to open it ‘immmmejiately’!”

“Well, I can’t let Takeru down,” Tooru replied, and giggling he tore at the paper.

He’d expected something a little silly, maybe a shirt with an alien, or a present his nephew had made, but as he unwrapped, the indulgent chuckle he was already forming stuck in his throat, to be replaced by a full throttled yelp of a sob. “Obi-wan!” he cried. “Oh my goodness!”

“Yeah,” Hajime muttered, and when he continued his words were indistinct. “Takeru remembered that party of yours where we camped out, and we’d said your birthday wasn’t the same without –”

“My dumb alien toy,” Tooru whispered.

“I never called him that. Well, not recently.”

“I left him at home.”

“Takeru said he found him in your wardrobe. He thinks he must have been left behind by accident.”

“Mistake,” Tooru corrected and hugged the threadbare toy to his chest. “I’ve made so many. Iwa-chan, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Hajime interrupted. “Not now. I know we’ve got to talk, but ... let’s just enjoy this, yeah?” He tried to smile, but his lips trembled, so he buried his face in the bag again, pulling out a large envelope. “Look, I haven’t really bought you much. I didn’t have enough time, but here’s something from Koji and Saburo.”

“The Chibis? How sweet.”

“Yeah, they don’t like being called that anymore. Sab threw a right strop when I said it.”

“Iwa-chan, they’ve never liked it,” Tooru sighed, then giggled. “But I do it anyway.” He slid his finger in the envelope and ripped, letting the contents spill on the floor. “What are these?” he asked and bent down to turn over each circle. “Volleyballs?”

“A hundred and three volleyballs.”

“So precise?”

Because you drew me one hundred and three beetles, remember? And my mum used to get so mad because they unstuck and fell on the floor and she’d hoover them up and I’d go mad if I lost one and make her take the hoover apart and -” He stopped for breath. “This one’s from me. Really small present, and I promise I’ll buy you something better, but ... uh ... enjoy.”

It was small and flat, wrapped in birthday paper, and stuck with a fancy foil ribbon, which Tooru was sure Hajime’s mum must have bought. Although he knew from Hajime’s worried face that it couldn’t have been much, he still opened with relish, determined to declare that whatever was inside was the most perfect present he’d ever had in the world.

“Stars... planets... aliens...”

“Thought we could put them on your ceiling,” Hajime mumbled. “Sorry, it was a dumb idea. You’re not eight anymore.”

“I’m nineteen, and it’s perfect,” Tooru assured him, “but, it’s not the best present.”

“Yeah, well, sorry. Like I said, no time and -”

“You being here, Hajime, that’s the best birthday present.” Tears leaked from his eyes and he didn’t bother dashing them away with his sleeve, because there was no point in hiding anything from Hajime, especially as similar rivers were making a mess of his face too.

“Wanna put them up?” Hajime rasped, holding out his hand.

 

The bed loomed large as soon as they opened the door, and for some reason, some stupid reason, the fact of it rendered both of them unaccountably shy. It was preposterous, Tooru thought, because they’d spent so much time through the years in and out of each other’s houses, with continual sleepovers, studying or just relaxing in bedrooms, on the floor or wrapped up in quilts and sleeping bags, but now ... now it took on a different meaning.

And much as Tooru would have given his right arm for them to forget the world and tumble together between the sheets, something stayed his hand.

Hajime was aware of the bed and aware of the connotations before they’d reached the room. His suggestion had been genuine, a light hearted attempt at fun, a reconnection with the childhood they’d shared, but he started walking over the threshold, inhaling sharply. Beside him, Tooru had gone very still, only a slight movement of his chest gave any indication he was alive, and his face had drained of colour.

“You okay?” Hajime muttered, and squeezed Tooru’s hand.

“Just ... um ... it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“We don’t have to ... you know ... we can just ... sit ... and ...” He gulped, wondering how to put this because what if he’d read everything wrong, if Hoshiyo was wrong and all Oikawa wanted was his friend back after all.

“Come here,” Tooru replied, and dragged him closer, walking backwards until the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees. He sat down, but with Hajime in tow, the momentum caused them both to flop back on the bed, and they stared at the ceiling before both rolled inwards, facing each other. He shifted loser, inching his way until their chests touched, and Hajime had moved his hand to rest on Tooru’s waist.

“I’ve missed you,” Tooru continued, hoping, hoping, hoping Hajime would know he was sincere. “I’ve missed ‘us’, you know?”

Hajime closed the distance with a pout of his lips, finding Tooru’s cheek before sliding to his mouth.

“We’ve been a lot to each other, not just friends and boyfriends, but partners and -,” Tooru whispered. “- and I want us to be that again.” He moved his hand to Hajime’s hip, letting his palm press into the bone. “But ... if this is too much, too soon, if you need us to talk this through first, then ...”

And they needed to talk, but with their bodies pressed against each other, it was difficult to think about words.

“Come here,” Hajime muttered.

“I can’t get much closer,” Tooru said, smiling.

“Don’t ruin this by being smart arse,” Hajime replied, and smoothed his hands downwards, his fingers biting into Tooru’s bum.

They kissed again. It had less of the fire than the kiss at the station but there was more deliberation, more measurement and circumspection. Less instinct ... but more need and want and, as the kiss deepened, more desire.

Tooru’s fingers tugged at Hajime’s shirt hem, pulling it out of his jeans, and then the tips of his fingers danced across his bare skin, tracing tiny circles across the taut abdomen, and glorying in the sudden gasp and growl thrumming  from Hajime’s throat.

“Stop that,” Hajime said, his voice a susurrus whisper in the air.

“Oh....” Tooru stopped, withdrawing his hand. “S-sorry, is it too much?” He peeped through his lashes at Hajime, wondering if he’d get up and leave now.

But Hajime was smiling. “It’s your birthday. Let me do that.”

With a happy sigh, Tooru lay back down again, and pouted his lips to receive the next kiss. And Hajime obliged, slow and warm, his lips covering Tooru’s, his tongue slipping inside his mouth, eliciting a low moan from Tooru’s throat.

Hajime broke free, but not far. Tooru could feel his breath against his neck, the nip at his ear and then fingertips pressing through his shirt and down to his stomach.

He didn’t ask what Tooru wanted. Silently Hajime followed his palm’s path with his mouth, hesitating as he reached Tooru’s abdomen, then lazily licking down as his fingers tugged at his waistband. Hajime’s tongue was warm and soft and teasing as his hands pulled down Tooru’s shorts, letting them rest above his knees.

Palming Tooru’s crotch, letting the warmth of his hand permeate through the boxers, Hajime tugged at the elastic with his teeth, and gave the softest of chuckles at his exposure. His tongue began its journey, licking the tip of Tooru’s cock, then he slowly (so slowly) massaged with his lips, pressing gently before letting his teeth smooth gently down the shaft.

Hajime’s fingertips slid across Tooru’s thigh, sipping under the fabric to grip his ass, clamping him in place as he began to suck, his tongue working him like a fury. Tooru was hard and on the apex, too quick, too desperate, but it had been too long and as much as he ached to hold back, to continue this climb at a slower pace, to prolong this bliss, Tooru was helpless to do anything other than comply with Hajime’s mouth.

And then he stopped, detached himself from Tooru, and stared up at him. “Shall I continue, or do you want –”

“Please!” Tooru keened, and grabbed Hajime’s hair, carding it with his fingers. “I’m –”

He returned, using his hand now to grasp Tooru’s cock, continuing to suck continuing to mould with his other hand until, and Tooru could not hold on any longer. He gasped and thrust and arched his back, tensing as he came, breath shuddering from his lungs, his hand dropping from Hajime’s hair to his side.

 “Happy Birthday.” Hajime was smirking as he wiped his mouth on the bed cover, and climbed up the bed, lying on his side by Tooru. They lay there for a while, Hajime with his hand at Tooru’s waist, silence only broken by in-sync breathing.

“Oikawa speechless, that must be a first,” he murmured after a while.

“Stop taking the piss,” Tooru chided, closing his eyes. “How can you expect me to be eloquent when you’ve just subjected me –”

“Subjected? Was it that awful?” Hajime said, snorting.

Tooru opened one eye and rippled out a laugh. “Appalling. We’re out of practise,” he said. He coughed. “Uh, I am, I promise, and …”

“I am, too, you know,” Hajime grumped.

“I wasn’t implying anything, but on the phone earlier, Makki said you thought I had someone else. I haven’t.  And I haven’t had anyone else at all.” He swallowed. “I promise. And ... um ... I don’t know what you thought you might have seen but ... uh ...”

“I might have overreacted,” Hajime mumbled. He twisted his face to nuzzle Tooru’s hand and smiled shame-facedly. “Took it out on my phone, which was fucking dumb, and it’s currently at the bottom of the sea.”

“Oh ... sorry.” He bit his lip. “I had no idea you’d seen them. In fact I thought you probably hadn’t because I was sure you’d have phoned me to yell.”

“Tired and trying to clear my head,” Hajime replied, adding softly. “There were a lot of things I should have done. That _we_ should have done.”

Tooru’s hand drifted to Hajime’s hip. “We can make up for it now,” he whispered, then to his horror had to stifle a yawn.

But Hajime laughed and gathered him in his arms, letting Tooru rest his head on his chest. “You look like shit.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Have you slept at all while you’ve been at college?” he said, flipping Tooru’s nose.

“Ah, not so mu- uh- ch,” Tooru said, unable now to stop yawning.

“Then sleep for a while.”

“But you –” He pressed harder, splaying his fingers, blinking to try and wake himself up, but drowsiness was overwhelming him, no matter how hard he gritted his teeth to try and wake up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hajime assured him, and pecked a kiss on his brow. “Go to sleep.”

 

***

It had been the best of dreams, one in which in his unconscious state he was sure he could turn to his advantage. Force the direction. So Tooru stretched out his hand, to draw Hajime towards him, to feel his heartbeat again and the brush of his lips on his cheek.

His hand landed on cold sheets. The space gaping and empty even as he scrambled, and his eyes flew open, not waking with a smile as he’d wanted, but the knowledge his exhaustion had deceived him. But something soft flopped into him, batting his face, and as his eyes adjusted to the sight right in front of him his smile returned.

“Obi-wan,” he whispered into the toy’s well-worn pile, “Where’s Iwa-chan?”

Obi-wan did not answer, but at that moment a ‘chink’ from the kitchen, a plate or two landing on the counter, perhaps, flickered more life into Tooru.

He padded out the door, hardly daring to believe because what if this was all a dream, that he’d imagined everything from this morning, that the dash across the park, the flight to the station and then _him_ appearing, was all a lie, the product of his exhausted, deluded imaginings.

Peering through the gap in the kitchen door, Tooru saw a figure wearing oven gloves removing a tray of croissants from the oven, and prayed that if this was a dream that he’d never wake up.

“Iwa-chan?”

He turned and grinned. “Hey sleepy-head, ready for breakfast?”

“It’s ...” He glanced at the clock. “It’s gone midday.”

Hajime shrugged. “So? You can still have breakfast. I bought juice, too.”

He scooted towards him, wrapped his arms around Hajime’s waist and nestled his chin on his shoulder, inhaling not just the buttery sweet scent of the croissants, but the musk of Hajime’s skin.

“What have I done to deserve such a perfect boyfriend?” he whispered, and licked his ear.

He was softening, settling back into Tooru’s embrace but something made him stiffen a touch, and the smile he turned on Tooru was small. “Eat up,” he said.

He should leave it, eat his croissant and get on with the day, live life in the perpetual bliss that had seen fit to visit itself so unexpectedly, but Hajime rounding his shoulders away from him, gave him pause.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You ... _winced_ ,” Tooru suggested.

“Um... it’s that word.”

“What? ‘Perfect?’” Laughing he nuzzled Hajime’s neck. “You’re perfect for me, all right, Iwa-chan.”

“No. Boyfriend.” Hajime coughed. “We’ve not really said to each before. It’s ... different.”

“Good or bad different?” Tooru asked, frowning into Hajime’s hair.

“Good,” he pronounced, the turned around, handing Tooru a plate “Eat your food.”

“Don’t we need to talk?”

“Yeah, but not on an empty stomach.”

Taking the plate, Tooru detached himself and sat at the tale. He watched as Iwa-chan found two glasses and poured them both juice, then pushed out a chair with his foot. “So, where do we start this?” Tooru asked, and broke off a corner of his pastry, unfurling it in his fingers.

“Uh ... Can I ask something first?”

“Go ahead,” Tooru replied.

“Shiratorizawa, were you ever going to go there?”

He scrunched up his nose, not understanding in the slightest where that question had come from. But knowing somehow it was important to Iwa-chan, Tooru tilted his head to one side to consider. “I had an offer,” he said. “I told you that.”

“I mean instead of going to Kitigawa Daiichi.”

“Huh? Um, no, I ... Well, my parents looked at it, and they came back with brochures and Dad wanted me to at least go and look at it, but ... no ... I liked Kitigawa, and so did my Mum, so that was where I went.” He frowned. “I think. I mean it’s a long time ago.”

“So...” The word was slow, full of trepidation. “Your _Dad_ wanted you to go to Shiratorizawa.”

“I’m not sure he cared particularly,” Tooru scoffed. “But my mother was against it.” Hajime’s face was impassive, the sort of look he assumed when he was masking his feelings, but Tooru knew enough not to probe him now in case he closed up. “She didn’t want me going away to boarding school for one thing and made that clear.”

“And you?”

“God no!” he laughed.

“And later?”  Hajime mumbled, sipping some juice. “Do you regret turning them down?”

“Iwa-chan, what does this have to do with anything? It’s ancient history and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Just ...” Hajime sighed and shook his head. “Okay, you’re right. It’s not important.”

They munched in silence, and a mist descended, threatening to solidify between them. Metaphorically blowing it away, Tooru licked a crumb off his lips, then stretched out to cup Hajime’s hand in his. “I have no idea why you’ve brought this up, but I know it must be important. I don’t regret choosing Seijou over Shiratorizawa, and I know I made the right choice.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Do you remember when I won the Best Setter Award?”

“I was there, wasn’t I,” Hajime grumped, and shot him a grin. “Also you’ve never shut up about it.”

“Ha ha. What I wanted to say is that I remember the other Setter in the running. The other boy from Junior High that could have won it.”

“Uh?”

“It was Semi Eita,” Tooru replied, hoping he sounded careless. “Do you remember the accuracy of his serves, such command at fifteen years old. Yet at Shiratorizawa, with Ushiwaka-chan as Ace he was negligible.”

“That would not have happened to you,” Hajime insisted. “You were too good, far too good.”

“I would _not_ have fitted into that team. At least, I wouldn’t have the way I would have liked. So, yes, I did apply, and I did think about it. If you’re offered a place then you would, don’t you think?”

“I never was,” Hajime said, deadpan.

“You never applied,” he protested. “The point is, if you actually need this spelling out, the offer arrived and before I’d even opened the envelope, I knew I was turning it down. And I have no regrets.”

“But you didn’t know all that about Semi-kun then,” Hajime insisted. “So, why did you turn them down?”

 “Because I wanted to beat them. Or rather, I wanted ‘us’ to beat ‘him’.” He finished the croissant, folding the last leaf of pastry into his mouth. “Rivalry drives me, you know that better than anyone, Iwa-chan. What good would I have been at Shiratorizawa without a nemesis?”

Hajime looked, if not happier, at least more settled and although Tooru wanted to probe, to ask why it was he’d felt he had to know, he kept quiet. That it had been important, he had no doubt, but after swirling the waters, sometimes you had to let them rest so they’d clear.

“Maybe I’d have become your nemesis,” Hajime said.

“More like Forbidden Fruit or...” He traced the top of his glass. “Back then, if we’d gone to different schools and become rivals, then I hope I’d have been big enough to keep our friendship going.” Staring at the table, he waited for Iwa-chan to say something – anything – but all he heard was the sound of a glass being picked up, and juice being swallowed. “I was a better friend at fifteen than eighteen. I know that now.”

“Your turn,” Hajime mumbled. “What do you want to ask?”

“Haaaa ... well, okay.” _So much,_ he thought. _But where to start? Is it going to piss him off if I plunge right in? Probably. But ... isn’t the point of this that we clear the air._

“Oikawa, get on with it,” Hajime said. “Or do you want me to say something?”

“Ha, no, I just ... W-why Karasuno?”

And he waited for the closed expression, the scowl to crease his features and the blank refusal to talk, because heaven knew Iwa-chan could be the stubbornest of creatures when he felt like it.

“Because despite knowing it would piss you off, it was still the best option for me,” Hajime replied.

“Despite?” Tooru tried to swallow back the question, but Hajime had fixed him with a look, and now a blush had appeared on his cheeks.

“I knew it would upset you. I ... This isn’t easy to say, but I kind of counted on that.”

And maybe he should have been outraged, but this admission coming at that moment set the pieces in place for Tooru. The non-understanding, the miscomprehension, the hurt and utter bewilderment because Iwa-chan had never given a real reason, just said he was going there and –”

“Why?” Tears were welling again, pain and loss vying for supremacy. “It did feel like you were driving me away, and I didn’t know why? Just ...”

Hajime took a long deep breath. He reached out for Tooru’s hand, but when Tooru did not reciprocate, he pushed his plate to the centre, his croissant half eaten. “I got it into my head that you were going to chuck Tokyo in and go to Sendai,” he said baldly.

“What!”

“Yeah, ridiculous. That was part of it. I saw you had an Astronomy leaflet, that day in the park, and I didn’t want you to even think about giving up Tokyo. Y-you already ... I mean, I felt at the time that I’d already let you down, and it was one more thing.”

“I don’t quite understand. You thought I was switching to Sendai.”

“I thought you were considering it.”

He laughed, incredulous. “And you didn’t ask me?”

“I knew you’d deny it!”

“Because it wasn’t true. Iwa-chan, there is absolutely no way I’d have gone to Sendai. It was only ever going to be Tokyo or possibly Kyoto.”

“Kyoto?”Hajime pounced. “I don’t remember you talking about going there.”

Helping himself to Hajime’s croissant, Tooru deliberated. “It was suggested to me by the Guidance Counsellor, and the volleyball’s good, but I never seriously considered it,” he said airily.

“Why not? The volleyball’s amazing. Hasn’t Ushiwaka gone there?”

“Has he?” Tooru swallowed the croissant.

“You know he has!” Hajime grouched. “You’re not _still_ carrying on this rivalry, are you?”

“No! Well, not really.”

“But refusing to consider that college because he’s gone there. That’s such a dick move!”

“It wasn’t just that,” Tooru snapped, stung. “They didn’t have L -”

“Law...” Hajime sat back in his chair, face up to the ceiling. “You refused to think about it because of that. Because of me. I wasn’t that far wrong then.”

“Tokyo is _just_ as good,” Tooru insisted. “I haven’t given up anything. Besides, can you imagine me playing with Ushiwaka-chan?  It would be like playing with a robot. No fun at all!

“Anyway, you still should have talked to me,” he finished.

Hajime sighed and swilled some of his juice. “I know I should have done, but then, I found out about Mum and the baby, and she was stressed over that and my results and ... I knew I couldn’t fuck up again. Going to Karasuno seemed the best way to get away from volleyball.”

Choking not just on the croissant but the ridiculousness of Iwa-chan’s last statement, Tooru thumped his chest, wheezing until Hajime got up to thump him on his back.

“Get away from volleyball, by going to the school who went to Spring High?” he rasped, reaching for his juice. “Now that’s the biggest dick move of them all, Iwa-chan!”

Giving him a last thump, Hajime clutched Tooru’s shoulders. “Because it still fucking hurt knowing we’d lost to them, and I didn’t want to let you, or the others down.”

“Dumbass,” Tooru whispered, and kissed Hajime’s fingers. “You let no one down.”

“I kind of know that now.” He rested his chin on top of Tooru’s head and wrapped his arms around him. “And then I went and got involved anyway. With the girl’s team, before you ask.”

“I know,” Tooru replied, tilting his face up to meet Hajime’s eyes. “Koushi told me. And I read your articles. I didn’t know you could write like that.”

“Never really had the opportunity. Karasuno have a paper. One of the teachers submitted something I’d written and then it kind of snowballed. Good for college credits,” he said, shrugging.

“They were brilliant,” Tooru assured him. “And did you like coaching?”

“Uh, yeah. Sort of. Got off to a rough start by getting into a fight with one of the basketball guys.  Twat fell over.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” teased Tooru. He finished off the croissant, and Hajime moved back to his seat. “So, um, can I ask something else?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you decide to come here today?”

“Few reasons,” Hajime replied. “End of term, I finally got your letter and then I met your sister, and she talked some sense into me. She also thought you were miserable. Oh, and Takeru really wanted you to have Obi-wan.” He was counting off on his fingers, then huffed out a breath. “Real reason? I missed you, and it felt wrong not being together for your birthday, and I kind of knew that even if you had someone else, it wasn’t as important to me as making sure we didn’t fall apart forever.”

“Oh.”

Hajime peeped at him. “Why were you coming home?”

“It’s my birthday, and I have to spend it with my Iwa-chan,” Tooru chirped, but the look in his eyes belied the tone, and he gave up the childlike sentiment. “I missed you. I kept remembering past birthdays and ... do you remember that one when you biked over in the rain?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I was grounded for a week.”

“And then, I remembered being on the beach in February and how you’d not come to look round Tokyo with me as we’d planned, and I knew I had to speak to you because you’d been keeping something back from me then, and it was ... there was this huge sense of déjà vu.  I had to work out what you’d hidden from me or I’d get no peace at all. You know what I’m like when something niggles at me. And I have catch up lectures to attend in August and you would have been on holiday with your family and I just knew I couldn’t face another day, let alone two months not speaking to you. Makki wouldn’t give me your number, you didn’t reply to emails -”

“Ah, new server when we moved,” Hajime mumbled. “Sorry.”

“And you didn’t reply to the letter,” he ploughed on. “So it _had_ to be face to face. Makki and Neesan kept telling me _I_ had to sort it out, and I banked on the fact that if I turned up on your doorstep, the Chibis wouldn’t let you throw me out.”

“You’re probably right. They’ve missed you.”

“I missed them. And Takeru. And Makki and Mattsun. And everyone from Seijou. It’s good here, but it’s not the same.”

 “Mattsun yelled at me,” Hajime mused. “Not sure he’s ever done that before. Mind you, he was upset ‘cause Makki’s going -” He bit his lip, fearful of the secret he was about to spill.

“Abroad.” Tooru supplied. “Makki confided in me. I hope they work it out.”

“They will if they talk,” Hajime agreed. “Properly.”

“We should tell them that,” Tooru joked. “I’m sure they’ll take it from us.”

Hajime nudged him with his foot. “Are we okay? Have we worked it out?”

Tooru tilted his face to the side, taking in Iwa-chan. He stared into his eyes, examined the spiky ruffled hair, saw the black circles under his eyes and the crumpled shirt pulled straight from his holdall. He saw the broad shoulders, and the tan of his legs, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Tokyo, or before really, a sense of contentment rippled through him.

“We’re here and together and not yelling, so it’s a start.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, lovely readers, for being so supportive. Have a wonderful 2018!


	40. Back in flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back together, but not yet on court ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face appears ... and someone new (well, you'll recognise them, and I know one of you at least will be cheering.)
> 
> (There's some more M rated stuff in this chapter, so feel free skip, but my boys have been apart for too long!)

**[Are things okay?]**

Tooru read the message twice over, pondering his reply. Not that he had any doubt about the answer, but if he answered then there was always the chance that Suga would call him to ask for details, and he wasn’t sure he wanted anything – however well meaning - to burst his bliss bubble right now.

But then, he wanted to talk to Suga, because one thing was still bewildering him.

**_[They’re great!]_** he replied. **_[Suga, why were you there this morning? How did Mattsun have your number?]_**

**[He didn’t. Asahi did.]**

**_[I don’t understand.]_ **

**[Apparently Asahi was out jogging with Matsukawa.]**

**_[I didn’t know they knew each other.]_ **

**[Neither did I.]**

**_[How did that happen?]_ **

**[No idea. Anyway, Tooru, are things really good?]**

**_[Yes, they’re absolutely fine.]_ **

**[Then why are you wasting time texting me when you could be snogging.]**

**_[Because, Koushi, Iwa-chan is in the shower getting ready before we go out.]_ **

**_[So ... you can snog in the shower, Tooru.]_ **

**_[You’re a bad influence. How does Sawa-chan cope?]_ **

**[He runs away. Anyway I’m on my best behaviour with Mum and Chiharu here, which reminds me]**

**_[What?]_ **

**[My sister would love to meet you. Is there any chance we can come over? Or you can come here? You can say no because you obviously want to be alone with Iwaizumi, but I just wondered if we could drop by. Ten minutes, tops.]**

He smiled, happy that Suga was speaking properly to him again ** _. [Yes, I guess so, but we’re going to the courts very soon, so it would have to be after that.]_**

**[Ah, the courts. That’s fine. Let me know when you’re back.]**

 

The shower had thrummed into life, and Tooru smiled as he put his phone down. _Suga had very good ideas._

 

Letting the water cascade over him, then lathering shampoo over his hair, Hajime didn’t hear the click of the door. But he saw the looming shape the other side of the steamed glass.

“I’ll be out soon,” he called, wondering what the rush was.

“Hope not,” Tooru replied, and with a smirk opened the shower door.

“You’re naked,” Hajime said.

“Ten out of ten for observation, Iwa-chan,” he said and stepped into the cubicle. “Have I told you the amount of times I wanted to do this after practice?”

“You’d have scared Kindaichi,” he scoffed, trying to gulp down the annoying tremor in his voice.

“Broken his heart, more like. Poor sweet kouhai had _such_ a crush on you,” Tooru replied, draping his arms over Hajime’s shoulders. He tilted his head down a touch, nuzzling until he found Hajime’s mouth. “Bleugh, soapy!”

“It’s called having shower,” Hajime complained, but not with any venom. He let the water run over his body, rinsing away the shampoo, then blinked open his eyes.

Tooru was staring at him, feasting hungrily and drawing closer, pressing his body against Hajime’s, pushing him back against the tiled wall. Feeling Tooru’s hand move to his thigh, Hajime closed his eyes and uttered no more resistance.

There was again that familiarity between them, the knowledge that they shared, and yet this was a different time and place, and the memories of before blurred then disappeared as Hajime’s mind focused only on the here and now. Pleasure rippled through him, not urgent, not scorching, but slowly rising as Tooru’s fingers stippled circles up and down the shaft of his cock.

“You like that?” he whispered.

“You know I do,” he began to say and then groaned because Tooru’s mouth had moved to Hajime’s neck, sucking on his earlobe.

“I should get you clean, Iwa-chan,” Tooru said, and peeling away, he reached for the shower gel and squeezed some over his hand. Smearing over Hajime’s stomach, his hand splayed, slippery over his skin.

“Now for your thighs,” Tooru whispered, and slid his hands lower, parting Hajime’s legs.

“Shall I clean the rest of you?” he asked, an innocent sing-song tone to his voice as he lifted one hand to the safer territory of Hajime’s shoulder, but let the other slip between his thighs.“Or would you rather I concentrated my efforts in one place?”

And Hajime knew that he couldn’t win, had never been able to win when Tooru was in this most capricious of moods. He lifted his face up, exposing his neck and then pressed closer to Tooru, urging him on.

He wanted to prolong this moment, to delay the complete capitulation especially as he could feel the soft curve of Tooru’s smile on his cheek, but the far more insistent pressure of his hand was racing him forwards, heading him over the finishing line. He could barely feel the water now, the hum of the shower lost as Tooru’s whispers mingled with his own deepening growls, until suddenly, powerfully, with blood rushing in his ears, he thrust into Tooru’s hand. And he thought he would buckle under the pressure, but Tooru had slid his hand to his waist, propping him up and enveloping him in his arms.

Pecking him on the forehead, Tooru stepped away. “Water’s getting cold. Think I’ll step out and find a towel. Leave in ten minutes, yes?”

“Is that all you can say?”

“Um, other than you have no idea how intense you look when you’re about to ... uh ...” Tooru said and smirked, “then, yes.”

“Ass hole!” Hajime snarled, throwing a sponge at him. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

The smirk left Tooru’s face. “I don’t know either, but I’m so glad you do.”

 

“There’s a gym, too,” Tooru was saying as they strolled towards the bus stop. “We can use that later.”

“And I’m allowed in there?”

“Um, not sure, but Bokuto brought Kono-chan in, so –”

“Who?”

“Bokuto Koutarou, he’s from Fukurodani. Remember they won –”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” Hajime muttered, “Who’s ‘Kono-chan’?”

“Konoha Akinori,” Tooru explained. “He’s at Kyoto, but Bokkun used to play with him. He’s a nice guy, actually and has visited a few times. You’ll like him.”

“Meh.” Hajime stuck his hands in his shorts pockets, ignoring Tooru’s open palm. “Blond guy, right?”

“Yes, how do you know ... OH! You saw that photo. ” He pulled Hajime’s arm, forcing his hand out of his pocket, and held it tight. “Nothing happened. You do believe me, don’t you?”

“Look, it’s none of my business,” Hajime muttered, his eyes studying the ground, misery hunched in his shoulders. “We weren’t exactly together, so it’s nothing to do with me.”

But he hadn’t pulled away, and Tooru interlaced their fingers. “We were together. We are together ... at least, I hope we are. I never thought of us as split up, just ...”

“On a break?” Hajime asked, his voice cracking.

“Apart,” Tooru said. “I didn’t know how it was for you, but in my mind there was no way I could be with anyone else. It would have been like cheating.” He sniffed. “And I am not my dad!”

A second or so later, Hajime squeezed his hand and shuffled closer. “Tell me about Bokuto. Is he as amazing as he was at Spring High?”

“He’s brilliant, but utterly bonkers and totally temperamental. Takes all my mental strength not to yell!”

“And you’ve got a tournament coming up, right?”

“We have and ... um ...I’ve been picked for the second team.”

Hajime’s face split in two with a smile. “Fantastic! So you must have a lot of practises right?”

“Yes, every day starting tomorrow, it’s compulsory if you want to be on the team. There’s this Second Year Setter who’s also on the team. He’s a bit of a –”

“Compulsory?” Hajime queried.

“Yes.” Tooru raised his eyebrows. “Iwa-chan, if I want to be taken seriously, then I have to –”

“But you were coming back to Miyagi,” Hajime interrupted. “You were going to skip a practise. OIKAWA! What kind of dumbass are you! That was fucking irresponsible!”

“Because ... because ... because I had to, Iwa-chan. I messed up with my tutor and there were lectures to catch up and you would have been away and  - I _had_ to see you.”

“You were going to risk your place for _me_!”

“Uh, well, put like that, I guess, but it was instinct and there will be other tournaments.”

“You idiot. You big stupid idiot,” Hajime choked and wrapped his arms around Tooru, pulling his head onto his shoulder and stroking his hair. “Don’t ever do that again. I don’t want to be the person you have to give something up for.”

“I couldn’t see another choice,” Tooru mumbled into Hajime’s shoulder. “Everything was piling in on me, and it was like I was crashing and needed somewhere safe to land.”

“What else?” Hajime soothed.

“Oh. Nothing much,” he sniffed, not wanting to offload. “And everything’s better with you here. Clearer. Like the fog has gone.”

Hajime ruffled Tooru’s hair again, and the bus drew up, swishing open its doors to let them on.

“So,” Hajime said when they’d settled into two seats. “Who else has been picked? Sawamura?  He is here on a scholarship, right?”

“He is, and no he hasn’t.  He’s been playing very well, but he’s not available. Yaku – he’s the Nekoma Libero, do you remember him?”

Wincing, Hajime’s hand automatically strayed to his knee. “Uh, yeah, haven’t forgotten much about that day. He’s here, then, is he?”

“Oh, yes, and Kuroo – their Captain. They both share with Suga and Sawa-chan. Kuroo’s been picked for the reserve pool.”

“So you, Yaku and Bokuto?” he questioned, and his voice was studiedly neutral. “Or has he made it to the first team?”

“Hum, he might not make it at all,” Tooru murmured. “He went home last week and hasn’t been back.”

“Whoa, why’s that? Is he injured?”

“Kuroo says he’s finding it hard, and there’s a problem with his hall. He’s exhausted most of the time.”Huddling closer to Hajime, he linked his arm in his resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder. “Wish you were playing. Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t say that.”

“I wish I was, too,” Hajime replied, “but I wouldn’t be match fit even if I had made it to Tokyo. I could ... maybe ...stay and watch?”

“Could you?” He hardly dared to hope, but here was Hajime throwing a lifeline he didn’t even realise he needed.

“Need to clear it with Mum and Dad, but I don’t think they’d mind.” Chewing on a hangnail, he was silent for a while, then cleared his throat. “Will your parents mind?”

“No, why would they?” Tooru was gleeful. “You can stay and then we’ll drive back together. I can spend time with my family, and then, if you want, you could come back to Tokyo with me on the fifteenth. The lectures aren’t compulsory, but I probably should show willing. What do you say?”

“Ah, right, I need to be in Miyagi by the fifteenth as I have some work experience lined up. Good for credits and stuff. Uh ... Tooru, I’m not sure your parents will be that cool about me being here.”

“Of course they will! My mother adores you!”Tooru retorted, with a small toss of his head over how ridiculous Iwa-chan was being. But when he didn’t laugh, Tooru did a double take, and saw the crease between his eyebrows and the tight set of his lips.

And he thought about last March and how his mum’s attitude towards Iwa-chan had shifted. Not that she’d outright maligned him, but there’d been that pressure from her, continually harking that perhaps they should separate, using the analogy that Tooru needed to find his wings, to fly up and to the light.

Leaving Iwa-chan behind.

She’d disapproved of him at first. Had been unable to see beyond the dirty knees and plastered elbow. But her opinion had changed as Hajime, never the most prepossessing of children, had somehow worked a kind of charm over her with his gruff manners, and she’d welcomed her son’s best friend to every birthday celebration, to days out, sleepovers and study dates.

“Has something happened?” he asked, trying to stop any sharp edge. “You said you’d seen Mum recently.”

“Uh, yeah, she was with Takeru and Hoshiyo-Neesan. She just. Maybe she wouldn’t be happy us sharing. Like she might think we’re irresponsible or something,” Hajime muttered.

“Hmm, maybe. Oh, well, I just won’t tell her.”

And then he knew there was something off, because Hajime – normally so straight and moral – raised no objection, but settled back in the seat, his shoulders unhunching.

“Hoshiyo might,” he pondered aloud, his eyes flicking to see if there was any reaction. “After all, she knows you’re here.”

But Iwa-chan had clearly schooled himself for no reaction, because he didn’t move. “You could call her.”

“I’ll do that.” Taking his lead from Hajime, Tooru stretched out and decided not to think about it. Instead, he concentrated on the afternoon ahead, and volleyball. With Iwa-chan.

 

Hajime tried not to feel sad as he walked into the gymnasium, but the sight of what could have been ricocheted through his mind like an exploding bullet. It wasn’t just the size, the multiple courts, the floor with its clean tape, the baskets of balls and the nets that appeared to be new, with no holes and strung tautly, but the atmosphere.

A place where championship teams were born. It had the same aura as Seijou, yet magnified, and drinking it in, he wondered if it were possible to drown in its intoxication.

A hand slipped in his. “Next year,” Oikawa whispered. “We’ll take them all on.”

“You have another team,” Hajime replied, unable to stop the sadness cluttering his throat. “Another Ace.”

“If he returns,” Tooru said and sighed, but then he squeezed Hajime’s hand again. “Let’s not think about that now. Today’s my birthday and I’m here with you!”

They warmed up, something they’d done a thousand times before, but this was different. The first time in months, and he could feel Tooru’s gaze on him. He looked up, expecting to see a smirk, but was confronted instead by a look of utter concern in haunted eyes, so he stretched out to give Tooru a cuff round the head.

“I’m okay, dumbass.”

“But you haven’t played, have you? You must tell me if it gets too much. You promise.”

“I have played,” Hajime said, and grinned.

“Practise with the Chibis or your Girls’ team doesn’t count, Iwa-chan!”

“No, I ... uh ... I joined a Neighbourhood team. It’s the one run by the Karasuno Coach.” He snorted. “Mattsun’s come along too. It’s kinda fun, even though they’re dead serious. Also, Karasuno’s Ace from last year’s there – Azumane-kun?”

“OH! So _that’s_ why he called Suga!” Tooru began to giggle. “Is he as scary as he looks? Is he older than everyone? Did he stay down a year or three? Tell me everything, Iwa-chan!”

“He’s a nice guy,” Hajime replied. “He just looks like a vandal. Bit like me. We’re misunderstood.”

“No, you _are_ scary! It’s only me that knows you’re a pussycat,” Tooru chimed and wrapped his arm around Hajime’s waist. “So, you’ve played an actual game with them?”

“Ish. Practise more than anything. I had to know if my knee would hold up, and it was a good workout. And Mattsun and I joined some of our kouhais for a three on three.”

“OOOH, interesting.” Tooru’s eyes were gleaming. “What are the new first years like?”

“I’ve only seen them, not actually played with them,” Hajime said and began to explain about the session at Little Tykes. By the time he’d finished, they’d both warmed up, and Tooru had picked up a ball. He was twirling it between his fingers, intense concentration beginning to materialise in his eyes, and the smile he offered was no longer one of concern but businesslike.

“Then I’m not going to take it easy on you at all, Iwa-chan!” he said.

“As if you would!”

There was a series of whoops from a court behind him, and he saw a group playing. Ten, he thought, with one Setter – from the looks of it. One of them half-raised his hand to Tooru, then flicked back to the game.

“Friends of yours?” he asked Tooru. “We could join them if you want.”

“Who?” Tooru glanced across and then his mouth formed an exasperated line. “The Setter is Satou. He’s a second year.”

“And?” Hajime recognised the tone, a subject Oikawa must have been fretting over.

“And, nothing,” Tooru replied sounding imperious, but then sighed. “He’s my immediate competition, and two or three of the others are his friends. They want places. Anyway, I’d rather practise just us two. I doubt they’ll want us there.” He bounced the ball on the floor, and then twisted it again between his fingers. “Now, stop procrastinating, Iwa-chan, and get ready to receive this serve!”

It was an order, a petulant one, but an order nonetheless, and Hajime couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking as he stifled a laugh. This was good, this was the Oikawa he knew, the confident player, determined to impress, with a scintilla of his antennae focused on a distant rival, but the rest of his being concentrating entirely on his opposition over the net.

He began his run up, tossed the ball high, jumped and then slammed with his hand, straight at Hajime.

Who dodged.

“OUT!” he called, and turned back. “That’s one bowl of Ramen you owe me!”

“NOT FAIR!” Tooru protested. “Come on, you serve to me.”

It wasn’t the most ferocious of serves, but it went over and Hajime had managed to add some swerve, so it twisted away from where Oikawa stood ready to receive. He controlled the ball’s trajectory, batting it over the net and with such skill that it fizzed across to Hajime, at just the right height for a spike. Jumping, Hajime landed the flat of his palm dead centre and slammed it down, eluding Oikawa as he dived for it.

“Two Nil!” he yelled. “Thought you were a college boy!”

“Iwa-chan!”

“Say what!” One of the players on the other court had turned his head, stopping mid-game. “Oikawa, who’s this?”

“My ‘reckless move’, Satou-san,” Oikawa replied. “Isn’t that what you said? Look, I’ve given it life. And, wow, what a life!”

Raising his eyebrows, Hajime fought the urge to ask what the fuck was going on, but took his lead from Tooru, who was steadfastly ignoring the other players.

“You’re not part of the club,” Satou called out to Hajime.

“Nope,” he said, and gathered up the ball Tooru had hoofed over to him.

“So what are you studying?”

“Rocket science.”

“Pardon?”

“Astrophysics,” Hajime lied. “How to make things go up in the air. Starting with round objects.”

“Huh?”

“Balls,” he replied, and gave his on-off smile. “Get ready for this, Oikawa!”

Tooru returned, sending it back again, but this time he’d neutralised the spin and power. Instead of attempting another spike, Hajime held out his arms, tipped it back across the net, billowing it high. And Tooru pounced, leaping into the air, and whacked the ball hard and cross court into the opposite corner.

“One Two, Iwa-chan,” he called. “And my serve.”

And this time it was in. A no touch ace, the power terrifying as the ball landed setting off what seemed like a series of quakes throughout the gym.

“Two Two,” Tooru trilled, voice light and dancing.

They continued, Tooru serving another two aces, before Hajime managed to get a foot to one and kicked it wildly over the net. It was off the court, to the side, and expecting Tooru to laugh, and chalk up another point, Hajime was left astounded when he chased after it, then with the most delicate of sets, but still one laden with power, he tossed over but also to the far side of the net, high and close, just the way his Iwa-chan liked it.

Hajime leapt, glorying in the height and the renewal of the springs in his feet, and although Tooru was scrambling back on court, (there were no chairs to bump into this time around) he could not get back in time for Hajime’s next victorious spike.

“One thing,” one of the other players called out, to Hajime. “Why aren’t you a club member?”

“It’s a _very_ long story,” Tooru replied, spinning around the hugest smile on his face, “but he’s good, isn’t he?”

“Injury,” Hajime supplied. “But I’m getting better now. Oikawa, my serve. Three Four.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hajime noticed two people at the door. Both hesitating, but one with determination, plucked the other’s sleeve as if he was dragging him on to play. Hajime didn’t know them,  was sure he’d not faced them in any competition, and yet there was a familiarity about them, or rather one of them had a presence which was all encompassing even if his head was down, and he was shuffling his feet..  Oikawa hadn’t noticed, was collecting a ball and turning it over in his hands, one eye on Satou and his friends.

“Oikawa,” he called out. “It’s my serve.”

“Yes, it is. Show them what you can do, Iwa-chan,” he laughed and whacked the ball across the net, then span around to ready himself for the incoming shot. It was as he moved that he noticed the newcomers, and his double-take became a stagger, his face opened up, ceasing to be that of a player conscious of every rival, but pure pleasure rippling through his smile.

“OH! You’re back!” he shrieked.

And the figure, the one with odd grey hair, and the shuffling step, stopped in his tracks. On hearing Tooru’s tone, (and after an untoward shove from his companion) he lifted his head and squared his shoulders.  “Hey, hey, hey, did ya miss me, Oikawa!”

“Of course I did, Bokkun ... uh ... Bokuto-san!”

“What’s with the formality?” Bokuto asked, the hint of a frown appearing. “Thought we was cool!”

“I ... uh ... wasn’t sure you liked it. Some people get annoyed with nicknames.”

“Never stopped you in the past,” Hajime murmured, soft so only Tooru could hear, who then quelled him with a flap of his hand.

“I like Bokkun,” Bokuto replied. “It’s kinda friendly. And only Akaashi calls me Bokuto-san.” He patted his companion on the back, sending him staggering forwards. “Ain’t that right, Akaashi? This is Akaashi. Akaashi Keiji, my old Setter from Fukurodani. I ... kinda ... no, he called me when I was back home and then came round and -”

After a sharp intake of breath, and a nudge with his elbow, the boy next to Bokuto gave a respectful bow, then took the smallest of steps back. “Bokuto-san tells me he’s missed some practises.”

“He has!” Tooru replied, but the smile was still on his face. “But you’re back now, and ...” He twisted around, finding Hajime. “Iwa-chan, this is Bokuto Koutarou.”

“Yeah, I recognised you,” Hajime murmured and inclined his head.

“Whoaaaa, you’re Aobajousai’s ace, right?” Bokuto replied and sped towards him. “I heard about you, and ‘course we saw a DVD of your match ‘gainst Karasuno. You are so frickin’ cool!”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi warned. “I think they were in the middle of a session. Why don’t we find a different part of the court and I’ll toss for you?”

“Oh ... I guess ...” His crest had fallen – a little – but there was a gleam in his eyes. “Only, as we have two Setters and Two AMAZING Ace’s, then we could kinda play together. What d’you say, Oikawa? Eh, Akaashi, and you, Iwa ... uh ...”

“Iwaizumi,” Hajime put in. “I don’t mind, but I’m not in your class.”

“Few are, but you’re probably more consistent,” Akaashi murmured, keeping his eyes on the ground. And then his gaze flickered to Tooru. “If we’re not disturbing you, then may we join in, Oikawa-san?”

There was an assenting nod, and a small eager grin followed by Tooru’s gasp of a giggle when things were working out, not necessarily as he’d planned, but as he’d hoped.

***

It was an hour later when Hajime admitted defeat. His knee was starting to twinge, just a little, so he called for a time out, pleading tiredness.

“You’re all right?” Tooru asked, immediately solicitors.

“Yup, don’t worry. Two on two’s more intense than a match, okay?” he assured him, and walked to the side of the courts, picking up his water bottle from his bag.

It was there Akaashi joined him. “You don’t mind, do you, Iwaizumi-san? I’ve had a hiatus from knowing quite how exhausting Bokuto-san can be.”

“Not at all.” He slurped some water. “Fukurodani, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve made it to Inter-Highs this year,” Hajime stated.

“We have.” Something like relief flooded his face. “I’m Captain. We said goodbye to the majority of our starting line up last year, so we’re practically brand new, but even so, I don’t think Bokuto-san and the others would have understood at _all_ if we hadn’t qualified.”

“Ready for your first match?”

“As seeds we enter on the second day, so we’re as ready as we can be without knowing who we’ll be playing.” He paused briefly. “Miyagi’s representatives are good defensively, I hear.”

“Picking my brains?”

“Of course. Although I have another source.” Akaashi drank some water a measured sip and his eyes drifted to Bokuto and Oikawa, now focusing on a series of tosses and spikes. “I’m glad he’s found someone as driven as he is.” He was silent for a while, leaning against the wall as he perused Oikawa’s toss. “How _is_ your knee, Iwaizumi-san? I hope this practise didn’t put too much strain on it.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. More just general unfitness, or to be honest keeping up with Oikawa. That guy would spend all night in the gym if he could get away with it.”

“Bokuto’s the same, although he’ll stop for a barbecue.” He laughed, a soft almost there chuckle at the back of his throat. “And you coach, I’ve been told.”

“How ... how do you know that?” Hajime blinked at him with curiosity. “Did Sugawara say something?”

“Sugawara-san? No, I haven’t seen him.” His eyes were heavy-lidded, turning his limpid gaze on Hajime, and although he clearly schooled his face into impassivity there was a slant to his lips, and one corner tilted upwards. “I am a friend of Ennoshita’s. He’s mentioned you.”

“Oh, right!”

“He was primarily disappointed not to have two Aces competing for a place at Golden Week,” Akaashi continued. “I, however, was rather pleased.”

“He tried his hardest,” Hajime muttered, staring at Oikawa, who was now attempting to spike Bokuto’s rather wayward tosses. “But I couldn’t have joined them. I’m retaking the year, as I’m sure he must have told you. Can’t afford any more fuck ups.”

“And you hope to come here next year?” Akaashi asked.

“That’s the plan. Law degree, and lots of volleyball. And you?”

“Hmm, well, I’d rather like to pick Oikawa-san’s brains over the Psychology here. I’m thinking of that, or else Philosophy, although ...”

“What?” Hajime smiled at him. “What’s caught your fancy, Akaashi-kun?”

“I like writing and analysis, so Literature or perhaps Classics.”

“You’ve not narrowed anything down. Do you want to come here, too?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not as attached to volleyball as my former Captain.” He smiled wryly. “Don’t you dare tell him that!”

“Blasphemy, right. Oikawa’s the same. Has been from a kid. He _dragged_ me into the sport.”

“And were you kicking and screaming?”

He considered, and started to laugh. “Nah, I used to yell at him a lot to leave me alone, but I was hooked as quickly as he was, just couldn’t stand the fact it was his idea.” Feeling a stiffness in his shoulders, Hajime stretched his arms over his head. “Oikawa,” he called.

“Mmmhmm?”

“I’m going to walk outside for a bit, stay loose.”

“Okay, I won’t be long!”

“He will be,” Hajime whispered. “Want to join me?”

“No, I’ll go and toss for them both,” Akaashi replied. “Bokuto-san might be an excellent Wing Spiker, but his tosses are a little too powerful.”

It was hot outside, the heat of midday still around him even as the sun descended, and although he’d fully intended to go for a jog, or at least a power walk, pretty soon the close atmosphere was making his skin prickle. Spying a set of benches, Hajime headed for an empty one, and stretched out to bask in the sun.

Clear skies and sunshine, his life now on an upturn, for although there were still clouds on the horizon, they were distant ones and for now, he and Tooru were back on track. And he wondered about Hoshiyo’s theory, whether Tooru’s mother really had suspected what was going on, and to what lengths she’d go to keep them apart.

_And my parents too._

It had been, he thought, a sudden thing for Tooru, an impulse after that heavy, deadening loss, which morphed into more, until in spite of their differing natures, they clamoured all the more for each other. And the time apart, while for Hajime he might have found a little more of himself, the yearning for Tooru had never ceased, clawing at his insides.

If all had gone to plan, they’d have been here now. Maybe in halls together, or perhaps they’d have shared the Oikawas’ apartment. But apart from college, they’d had no other plan, certainly not to spill to their parents, to let them know just what the relationship was. Oikawa’s mother might well put appearances before anything else, but he doubted his parents would be throwing them a party.

_What were we thinking, that we’d just continue to share and they’d not suspect a thing?_ Or maybe Tooru thinks it won’t last and this is just a way of passing the time and -

_No, don’t think like that. His tears were genuine._

He got up, intent on heading back to the gym. Maybe he could take another turn, block for Tooru and Bokuto, show he was useful, even if he couldn’t be around.

“Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa was bowling towards him, his footsteps light and a wide smile on his face. “I _promise_ we are done, and we can go for food, or back to the apartment, or whatever you want to do!  Were you hideously bored?”

“No, not at all. More frustrated,” Hajime replied, and grinned, his heart suddenly so much lighter. “I wanna play again, have you setting for me.”

“Your knee _is_ okay.”

“Yeah, sure.

“But you forgot your knee pads. You must wear them,” Tooru insisted. “Get a support like mine. We could be even more in sync.”

“Not bloody likely,” Hajime said and pulled a scowl across his face, adding a snarl. He clapped Tooru on the back. “You looked fucking good out there. No wonder they’ve picked you.”

“You know the best part,” Tooru said, his voice bubbling. “One of the coaches came in, saw Bokuto slamming down a spike and I think he might move him from reserve pool to second team. As long as he attends the rest of the practises, that is. He’s in there talking to him now.”

His fingers twisted into Hajime’s and from the smile on his face, all was well in Tooru’s world.

“Do you want another half an hour?” Hajime asked. “I don’t mind, honestly.”

“Only if you play,” Tooru replied. “And only if you’re genuinely okay. You’re here and all I really want to do is spend my day with you.” He twisted around, walking backwards and tugging Hajime towards him, the sunlight behind him turning his hair aflame.

_I love him._

“Well, what the fuck’s going on here?” a voice fired towards them.

Tooru stiffened. Looking over his shoulder, Hajime saw two boys loom their way, hands stuffed in their shorts.

“Friends of yours?” he muttered.

“Not at all. Let’s go,” Tooru said.

He was complying, following Tooru back into the gym, but in a surprising turn of speed, the shorter of the pair, had sped up, positioning himself close to the gym entrance. The other one standing behind them.

“Think this is what they call an ‘impasse’,” the one by the door (quite scrawny despite the vest top, Hajime noted) said, emphasising the word with a leer.

“Let us past,” Tooru said, his voice was soft but clear.

“Gonna make me?” he replied, and tilted his head. “Hey, Ando-kun, did you say you’d heard this guy had a place on the team.”

Ando-kun said nothing, but casting a quick glance backwards, Hajime took in the fact that although he was tall, he was also gangling.

“So,” the asshole at the door continued. “You’re not going to want to do anything dumb like get into a fight, are you? Never know what that could do to your hand.”

“Move,” Tooru replied, holding firm.

“Is this your new boyfriend?” he asked, flicking the merest of glances at Hajime, his eyes far more on Tooru, who he clearly thought of as the bigger threat.

“Move,” Tooru repeated, and took a step forward, hands on hips. “I have friends in the gym, you know, Kato. We’re not alone.”

“You are right now, and who the fuck knows what I could do in the few seconds before you screech for help, you fucking gay twa-”

Hajime pounced, grabbing Kato by his vest front, and gripping with his fingers. “What the fuck could you do, asswipe?”

“Hajime, it’s okay.”

“No it isn’t.” He stared levelly at the Kato, saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes as he realised that although they were roughly the same height, there was a marked difference in strength.

“Ando!” Kato rasped.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Hajime growled, holding Kato against the wall. “I’ve got two hands, Ando, or whatever the fuck your name is.”

“It was a joke,” Kato gurgled.

“I’m not laughing.”

Kato tried to kick out, but with Hajime standing so close he could get no leverage. He called again for Ando, and this time there was a blundering of footsteps, followed by a yelp as Tooru stuck out his leg and tripped him up. Ando went flying, and then Hajime let go of the struggling Kato, which sent him slumping to the ground.

“Why d’you attack us?” Hajime demanded, standing over him. “Like what the fuck is your problem?”

“He’s prejudiced,” Tooru began. “A nasty bigot. There’s no reason at all except for that.”

“No, you got the cops involved over a bit of a ruck, and you made a complaint about me to the college,” Kato whined as he got to his feet and took several wary steps back.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t beat people up at bus stops,” Tooru retorted, toe poking Ando until he rolled away. He grabbed Hajime’s arm again. “Come on, let’s see if we can get back on courts.”

Kato was glowering, and attempting to flex his muscles, but when Hajime suddenly bared his teeth, he flinched and stumbled again.

“Twat!” Hajime laughed as they ran off, and squeezed Tooru’s hand. “C’mon, sod blocking for you, I wanna hit some more spikes.”

But Tooru was staring at the retreating figures, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

“Hey, Oikawa. They were idiots, that’s all!”

“No, you don’t understand,” he replied, his voice faint. “The pair of them ...”

“Oh!” Hajime swallowed, remembering the girls’ storage room and Sugawara’s tears as she told him about her brother’s injuries. “They were the ones who attacked Suga, right?”

“Uh... yes, how do you know?”

“His sister told me. Were you there? Were you hurt?” he demanded, and his hands furled into fists, anger hardening his jaw.

Tooru pulled him back, back from a chase he hadn’t realised he’d started. “I wasn’t hurt. I whacked them both with a bag, but the police have dropped the case.”

“And the college complaint? Will they do anything?”

“I don’t know about that,” Tooru murmured. “Look, I know you want to get back to the gym, but I think I should get hold of Suga and Sawamura.”

“Sure.” Hajime ruffled Tooru’s hair. “It’ll be all right, you know. That git’s a coward, and I won’t let you get beaten up by a twat with a hygiene problem.”

“Hygiene?”

“Yeah, he stank.”

“Kind of sweet, yes?” Tooru questioned. “And musky.”

“Yeah, I mean if he’s going to pretend he has to shave, I wish he’d buy some decent aftershave and not knock off from a market stall.” He grinned. “Oikawa, you need to wind up a more fragrant class of jerk.”

“Mmm, I will,” he murmured distantly, as if on autopilot. He grasped Hajime’s hand again, more purposefully this time, and there was a furrow between his eyebrows.  “Let’s collect our stuff and go. And, sorry, I should probably ask Bokuto, too.”

“Hey, no need to apologise,” Hajime replied, eyeing him curiously. “I know that look, what are you plotting?”

“Nothing yet. I’ve been trying to work an idea free in my head, but it’s tangled up with something else. A green carpet, if you must know.” He inhaled sharply. “Oh ... England.”

“Huh?”

“We had a green carpet in England. Pistachio colour.” He barked a laugh at the sudden memory lighting his eyes. “Neesan used to say it looked like sick, and Mum got so mad because then I said it was like sick too, and she was telling me off and then.... they were yelling and I was supposed to be –” He slapped his head. “DAMMIT, why is this important?”

“Oikawa... Tooru,” Hajime pushed him forwards. “Get the bag and we’ll go back to the apartment. You clearly need to speak to her. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baddum!
> 
> Make that call, Tooru!


	41. Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru's birthday takes a different turn, but will he get to talk to Hoshiyo?

Hoshiyo wasn’t answering her phone when they returned home. Tooru left a brief message asking her to call, knowing Takeru often played with her phone, then sent a text as well, saying he needed to ask her something in private.  He tried to recall the memory again, focusing on his six-year-old self laughing  with her as they ran round their lounge. There’d been a sofa there, with an embroidered pattern and large cushions with elephants on them. And a radiator behind the sofa. His mum had spent a great deal of her time telling them to stop pushing the sofa into the radiator because it would fade the colour as well as trap all the heat in the gap behind so everyone would shiver.

_I built a den behind that sofa._

He’d draped a picnic rug over the top, snatched a cushion from the armchair and hidden away with a stack of comics, a torch and Obi-Wan.

“Hey, if you overthink, it won’t come back,” Hajime said, and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Jeez, you’re tense as fuck. Put your phone down, and I’ll give you a massage.”

“One more text,” he said, and shot a quick message to Suga, telling him they were home.

Hajime’s thumbs were digging into his shoulders, working at the muscles. Tilting his head back, Tooru stared into Hajime’s eyes.

“You look funny upside down, Iwa-chan.”

“I can see right up your nostrils, dumbass. It’s not a pretty sight.”

“Rude!” he exclaimed and smiled. Reaching behind he grabbed Hajime’s legs, running his palms up his thighs. “I know a better way to relax.”

“Except you’ve just invited half of your new volleyball team over to discuss tactics,” Hajime replied, and looming over, he pecked Tooru on the end of his nose.

Tooru shifted a little, nuzzling until he found Hajime’s mouth, licking with the tip of his tongue and smiling when Hajime parted his mouth. He continued to stroke Hajime’s thighs, chuckling when Hajime bent further over him to slide his hands around Tooru’s waist.

“How far away do they live?” he muttered.

“At least fifteen minutes if they walk.”

“And if they take the bus?”

“Longer because the traffic’s so bad.”

“Then,” Hajime mumbled, “I guess we could continue this upside down kiss somewhere else.”

“I like the idea of upside down,” Tooru whispered. “How acrobatic are you feeling?”

“I’m _not_ swinging from a trapeze.”

“Not what I had in mind,” Tooru said, and smudged his lips to Hajime’s neck, while his hand travelled further up Hajime’s leg. He was hard already, and watching Tooru saw Hajime’s eyes close, his mouth pouting out a low moan.

And this was too much fun, teasing him like this, so Tooru continued to mould his hand to Hajime’s crotch, and continued to kiss him, letting his tongue trace the bow of his lips.

“Bedroom?” Hajime croaked.

“Very good idea,” Tooru breathed, and in one fluid movement, he stood up and pulled Hajime close, pressing against him. “This really is turning out to be the best birthday ev –”

_BZZZZZ!_

_BZZZZ!_

“OH DAMMIT!”

“The door?” Hajime asked, looking pained.

“Yes.”

“I thought you said they’d be fifteen minutes.”

“It’ll be a neighbour or something. I’ll get rid of them.”

But when he opened the door, it was to an oddly petulant-looking Suga, Sawamura who rivalled Iwa-chan at his fiercest, and a girl who with her blonde hair, and the way she was twisting some strands around her finger, could only be Suga’s sister.

“We were close by,” Sawamura explained and mumbled what appeared to be an apology.  

“And we’re very angry with you,” Suga put in. He scowled. “VERY angry indeed!”

“What? I’ve invited you round like you asked.” He bowed to Suga’s sister, giving her the benefit of his charming smile (he hoped it was charming because quite frankly he’d have given the world to be able to tell them to clear off and not come back for at least an hour). “You must be Koushi’s sister. I’m delighted to meet you, even if your brother seems to be very grumpy today.”

And she giggled, not the way girls often did when confronted with Oikawa Tooru, but with a hint of mischief. Mirroring her brother. And Sawamura now he thought about it.

He leant against the door frame, not letting them in yet so Hajime had some time to recover, and folded his arms across his chest. “And why are you angry with me, Kou-chan?”

The girl, Chiharu, he seemed to remember Suga calling her, let out a yelp and shot her brother a side glance, before muffling a laugh into her sleeve.

“Because ... most people would have dropped the tiniest of hints that it was –” He stopped abruptly, fumbled with a plastic bag and then with a huge smile held out cardboard box “- their BIRTHDAY!” he shouted.

“Happy Birthday, Oikawa,” Sawamura said, ruefully rubbing his earlobe where Suga’s scream appeared to have deafened him. “’Fraid you’ve come up against the immoveable force that is Sugawara Koushi when he scents out a birthday. There is no one on this earth quite as enthusiastic about his own and everyone else’s birthday.”

“True, true, and I take it as a personal insult that I only found out this morning!” He grinned. “Open the box!”

Rolling his eyes, Tooru shot Sawamura a look. “Is he always this bossy?”

“Yup, you’d better open it, or he’ll never leave you alone.”

Standing to the side, Tooru gestured for them to come in. “Iwa-chan,” he called out. “Visitors.”

“Yeah, I heard.” He wandered out of the kitchen, _looking_ far too nonchalant. “Hi,” he said, and gave them all a small bow, then he reddened a touch on seeing Suga’s sister. “Hey, Sugawara-kun, I didn’t know you were in Tokyo.”

“Visiting Niisan, and Daichi-san. And we brought Oikawa-san a present.”

“And it’s a yummy cake!” Tooru exclaimed, his mouth watering at the sight of the chocolate cake oozing with cream.  “Thank you very much.”

“It is edible,” Sawamura informed him. “Suga’s Mum made it, and she’s an excellent cook.”

“I’d whack him for the implication that I’m not, except that it’s true,” Suga retorted. “Anyway, are you having a good birthday? I promise we won’t stay long if you’ve ... uh ... got other things planned.” He nudged his sister. “Chi-chan wanted to know if she could possibly come and watch practise tomorrow. I said I didn’t know if it was open to the public.”

“As long as you’re not a spy for the other universities, Sugawara-chan, then I am sure it’s fine.”Placing the cake on the table, he twisted back to the counter and picked up a knife. “Koushi, show everyone into the lounge and I’ll bring in some slices of cake.”

They trooped out, except for Hajime, who was searching the cupboards finally pulling out five small plates.

“Fifteen minutes, eh?” he muttered, his breath warm on Tooru’s neck.

“Not my fault,” Tooru replied. “It’s a bit of a problem having Suga’s sister here. I can’t really talk to them about Kato with her around. Unless you take her off somewhere.”

“She knows,” Hajime interrupted. “At least she suspects because she worked out Sugawara’s injuries couldn’t have been caused by one volleyball.”

“Hmm, would be best not to scare her though.”

A kiss landed on his cheek as Hajime enveloped him in a hug. “Sometimes, Oikawa, you’re a really good person, and I know exactly why I bother.”

And although the words were said with a joke, and an extra squeeze around his waist, Tooru found his eyes clogged with tears. He turned in Hajime’s arms. “I’m petulant and spoilt,” he muttered. “So I really have no idea why you bother, but I’m _so_ glad you do.”

***

Bokuto turned up shortly after, dragging an apologetic Akaashi with him, and waving his phone.

“Got a text from Suga,” Bokuto explained. “And now I’m mad, Oikawa-kun. Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

“Ah ... I never do.”

“LIAR!” Hajime yelled from the lounge doorway. “He bangs on about his birthday at least three times a week, and has done since he was seven.”

“Please, if we’re intruding, then tell us to leave, Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san,” Akaashi murmured, his hand on Bokuto’s arm, staying his entrance.

“No, you must come in now you’re here,” Tooru replied. “There’s cake, I will make tea and coffee. Oh, and I think there are some crisps and bits if people want to eat.”

“I’ll make it,” Hajime offered. “Uh ... if Sugawara-chan wants to help, then ...”

Tooru mouthed a thank you, then gestured for Bokuto to join them. And Akaashi, clearly noticing the exchange, blinked slowly then stepped towards the kitchen, offering assistance.

Normally chatty, Sugawara appeared dumbstruck by Akaashi’s presence, watching him through shuttered lashes, and Akaashi wasn’t overly loquacious either, so it was left to Hajime to make conversation, setting the pair of them jobs as he searched through the cupboards and fridge for anything resembling food.

“Wow, he does shop then,” he muttered, more to himself than the others, as he pulled out fruit and vegetables from the fridge. “But it’s not exactly party food.”

“We could slice the veg and maybe find a dip,” Sugawara suggested. “Make it healthy!”

“Bokuto-san ate a monster size burger on the way here, so I doubt he needs any actual food,” Akaashi put in. “And as I’m in training for the Inter-High, I should probably go easy on the snacks and cake.”

“You play?” Sugawara asked, blinking up at him. “Oh, yes, you’re tall, of course you do.” She flushed. “Sorry.”

“I’m a Setter,” Akaashi replied. “Like your brother. And you? Do you play, Sugawara-kun?”

She nodded, and her mood seemed to lift, no longer shy now she’d found a way to connect. “Setter, too. Must run in our family, except Mum’s is a dancer.”

“Useful to have graceful feet,” Akaashi agreed, and gave her a small smile. “Word of warning, don’t tell Bokuto-san that you play, or he’ll rope you in to toss for him. It’s exhausting.”

Her eyes widened. “Would he? Oh, that would be amazing!”

Chuckling, Hajime found a knife and chopping board, setting them on the counter. “You’re a sucker for punishment, Sugawara-kun, I knew that from practise. Bokuto has more energy than my two brothers combined.”

“Hmm, he does indeed. And volleyball is his outlet. Heaven help the world if he ever quits.”

“Would that actually happen?” Hajime asked, keeping his tone light, but staring at Akaashi, hoping he understood.

He did, and stepped a little away from Sugawara, leaving her with the vegetables. “Do you want to ask me something, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Oikawa mentioned he’d had some time away,” Hajime muttered. “He was worried, that’s all.”

Akaashi gave a curt nod. “He needed a break to work out why he loves the sport.”

“And he’s okay now?”

“He still loves volleyball. I don’t think that will ever dim, but college is another matter. He’s lucky he has friends around him, but he _has_ to take some steps himself and can’t rely on Fukurodani team spirit forever.”

“You all rally round... still?”

“He was –is – our talisman. I suspect in ten years time, he’ll still be running into the Fukurodani gym, yelling ‘HEY HEY HEY!’ and making their long-suffering Setter toss to him.” He gave a slight wink. “I fortunately will not be around.”

“I can’t find anything we can dip these carrots in,” Sugawara called out. “And we really should get some crisps or something else to nibble on.”

“Uh... I don’t know the area that well,” Hajime said feebly. “Um, I could ask Oikawa, but –”

“I do,” Akaashi replied. “Sugawara-kun, why don’t we go shopping together, and leave Iwaizumi in charge of the drinks? That way we can buy the food we like. Anything in particular for the birthday boy?”

“He likes milk-pan and nothing too spicy,” Hajime replied. “Want some money?”

“We’ll settle up later,” Akaashi replied, and ushered Sugawara out of the door.

“I’ll keep her out for as long as possible,” he murmured. “Bokuto-san has told me the gist of what’s been going on. He ... uh ... likes to feel he’s needed, I haven’t had a chance to tell Oikawa-san that. And, although his looks and style of play belie it, he’s really not that reckless in the everyday.”

“Okay, I’ll let them know,” he whispered.

They left, Sugawara proclaiming a list to the air, and Hajime knocked on the lounge door.

 

“So to bring you up to date, Iwa-chan,” Tooru said, “We’ve been talking about the fact that Kato and Ando know now that the police have dropped the case.”

Hajime gave a tight, grim sort of smile, and ignored the space next to Tooru when he patted the cushion, instead hovering by the door.

“What do you think?” Tooru persisted.

“Um, do you want me here?” Hajime asked, looking at them all. “This affects you lot, and I don’t want to ... uh ... intrude.”

“Nonsense,” Tooru said. “You were there today.”

“Yeah, Oikawa, just ...” He glanced at Suga. “It’s your call.”

“Join us,” Suga muttered, looking weary as he slumped into Sawamura. “Maybe an outside opinion can help.”

Hajime sat, and Tooru gave his hand a small squeeze. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Um, well, that Kato guy said something about a complaint, and Oikawa knows nothing about it, so maybe someone else knows something.”

“That’s right, he did!” Tooru allowed himself a smile. “I wonder if Fujita-san has said something. I have her number somewhere? We could find out.”

“Ah, no, guys, that might be me.” Bokuto raised his hand. “I complained about Halls. Least I could do.”

“Good for you,” Suga said, and leant over to give Bokuto’s arm a soft punch.

“Don’t get you guys any further forward,” Bokuto replied, looking a little shame-faced.

“Bokuto-kun, why did you complain?” Hajime asked.

“Kato’s in his hall and does not shut up,” Tooru replied. “Poor Bokkun’s had very little sleep.”

“Only you?” Hajime asked.

“Uh ... well ... the guy kinda picks on me ‘cause I don’t go out partying,” Bokuto started. “’N Akaashi thought it best I made  ... uh ... a pre-emptive strike ‘cuz my grades ain’t been good and I’ve fallen asleep a few times.”

“And your other Hall mates?”

Tooru looked from one to the other, wondering where Hajime was going with this.

“Oh!” Sawamura sat up. “Bokuto, has anyone else complained?”

He shrugged. “Dunno.”

“I see what you’re saying. They could be pissed at him, too,” Suga put in. “So it might be worth speaking to some of the others. Even if it doesn’t help us, it could help your case.”

“And Kato?”  Hajime asked.

“We don’t care about him!” Tooru said pointedly. “He can get chucked out as far as any of us are concerned, Iwa-chan.”

“What I mean is, if Bokuto-kun is having trouble with sleep and turning up for lectures,” Hajime said, rolling his eyes at Tooru, “then won’t Kato also be having trouble? You are supposed to go to lectures, aren’t you?”

“Yes, unless you’re Oikawa getting into arguments with his tutor, then generally we’re supposed to have a good attendance,” Sawamura replied, shooting Tooru a lop-sided grin.

“Then,” Hajime ploughed on, “Kato and that other guy might be on the college radar already. And what you need is a little leverage, and then he’ll either back off, or be forced out.”

Everyone was staring at Hajime now, and Tooru felt a small swell of pride in his heart. This was his inspiring Ace, the Vice Captain whose words and actions were in every way encouraging, even if it was often a yell of fury, it was from the heart and genuine.

“Hmm, but what leverage?” Sawamura was asking. “At the most the college will tell him to tone it down. If he doesn’t, then they might take action, but it’s also likely that he’ll take the warning and knuckle down.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Suga sighed.

“He’s a coward,” Hajime said. “Dunno if that helps, but he backed off pretty quickly earlier.”

“But I’m not going to go round with a chaperone for the rest of my college life,” Suga said, and glanced at Tooru. “And you won’t want to do that either.”

_Leverage?_

“Oikawa, you can’t try your sister again, can you?”

“What does your sister have to do with this?” Suga asked.

Shaking his head, Tooru picked up his phone, but Neesan hadn’t replied. “I’m not sure. There’s just something about that night that’s reminding me of her and England.”

The front door buzzed and Tooru got up to answer it, letting in a chattering Sugawara and an impassive Akaashi. They had bags of food, crisps and small delicious looking platters, so Tooru, calling on Hajime to help, began to prepare for this most impromptu of parties.

“I’m not even dressed properly,” he complained. “And my hair must look awful.”

“You’re in your volleyball sweats, so what?” Hajime replied. “I could probably do with a shower, too.”

“Yes, but you always look wonderful. And I like you in red, Hajime,” he assured him, and slunk his hands around his waist, resting his chin on Hajime’s shoulder. It felt odd, very slightly off, so he pulled away and tried again.

“I am trying to help you here,” Hajime muttered, and twisted around, draping his hands around Oikawa’s neck and staring into his eyes. “What’s up?”

“You’ve grown, Iwa-chan!” Tooru chuckled. “I swear you have, unless I’ve shrunk!”

“Get lost, asshole!” he exclaimed and tried to pull away.

But Tooru clamped him in place. “I know every inch of you, and how our bodies fit together, Hajime. And you’ve grown!”

And then he groaned because his phone rang and he couldn’t ignore it because he knew it was the tone he’d set for his mother. “I’ll have to take this, all right?”

“Sure.” Hajime twisted away, no doubt recognising the chime. “I’ll take this stuff in.”

“Hi, Mum,” Tooru called, clicking the answer button. “Sorry, I haven’t called before. Yes, I’m having a lovely day. I have some friends over right now and Iwa-chan –”

Hajime grimaced and began to shake his head furiously, and although he still didn’t understand the reasoning, Tooru trusted him, and quickly rethought.

“What about Hajime?” his Mum asked.

“He sent me a card,” he lied. “I must try and get in touch with him when I’m back.”

“When is that?” Her voice was a little strained.

“Not sure. I do have to be back here in August to attend some lectures,” he explained, walking towards the lounge, holding up his phone. “Say hi to my Mum, guys.”

They all complied, Bokuto practically crooning, although his enthusiasm could have been because Akaashi had bought a meat platter, and he was wolfing down some slices of beef.

“Who’s there?” his mum asked. “I thought I heard a girl’s voice? Is that Fujita-kun?”

“No, Koushi has a sister, and she’s visiting.”

“And are you celebrating with Fujita-kun later?”

Exchanging eye meets with Hajime, Tooru turned his back on the room. “Not sure her boyfriend would like that,” he replied. “I’m staying in tonight, maybe I’ll try FaceTiming Iwa-chan and the others.”

He didn’t imagine the indrawn breath, or the grapple for a change of subject. “Have you received our card?”

He hadn’t checked. “Uh, I need to go and see. Sorry. I was out before the post arrived and then the guys turned up.”

“Your father says ‘hello’,” she continued.

“He’s there?”

“Yes, working from home for a while. He says he might be in Tokyo next week.”

“Right.” His mind slipped into overdrive. His Dad would be here when Hajime was.

“I’d come too, but I have promised Hoshiyo I’ll help with Takeru.”

“Hmm, yes, don’t worry, Mum. I will try to get back soon, I promise.”

“I miss you, Tooru,” she said, “But if you feel you must stay in Tokyo all summer, then I will understand. Perhaps I _could_ come with Takeru. He can wear a mask, after all.”

_She has changed her tune._

“I really have to go,” he said, hoping he sounded non-committal. “Yes, I miss you too. Love to Dad.”

“Have fun, darling, and maybe think about going out with your friends. You don’t want to spend your birthday at home alone, do you?”

“Quite right,” he said. “Bye Mum.”

Hajime’s eyes flickered away, and he’d not started on any of the food. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched and once again Tooru knew something was being kept from him. And it was like the other times Hajime had been secretive, for Tooru’s good rather than his own.

He pursed his lips because he couldn’t pursue this right now, but later he’d get to the bottom of it.

“Is that milk pan?” he asked.

“Iwaizumi-san said it was your favourite,” Sugawara replied, smiling up at him.

“And he’s right. Also, you’ve managed to find my favourite bakery. That’s very clever.”

“Ah, it was Akaashi-san,” she said.

“Then thank you,” Tooru replied and inclined his head. “This is turning out to be one of my very favourite birthdays.” He picked up a glass of coke. “Thank you, everyone for being here.”

“Happy Birthday,” they all intoned.

“This is the twelfth party of yours I’ve been to,” Hajime said at last, and reached for a plate. “The first year it was just us, wasn’t it?”

“Cinema. Zathura, wasn’t it?” Tooru replied, pretending to be casual. “We’d only just moved to Miyagi, so you were the only person I knew.”

“I saw that,” Sawamura said. “Great film.”

“We might have been in the same cinema, Sawa-chan,” Tooru teased. “We could have thrown popcorn at each other.”

“He kept throwing it at me,” Hajime joked. “We’d not known each other long, so I was trying to be good because Mum said I had to be on my best behaviour, and then this asshole tried to stuff popcorn in my mouth and I spluttered it out all over the floor. Not sure your mum was amused.”

“Neesan thought you were hilarious though. And we had a sleepover, too.”

“Did your Dad make those cool pancakes the next day?” Bokuto asked. “Gah, they’re amazing.”

Hajime kept silent, busying himself with more food and not catching Tooru’s eye.

“Think my Dad was rather pre-occupied,” Tooru said vaguely. “It was before his pancake-making days, Bokkun.”

“Ah, shame. They were great.”

They continued to eat, sharing birthday memories, (Suga’s sister bringing up the most embarrassing stories she could about him, and finding a picture on her phone of the time she’d used him as a model and adorned his hair with ribbons.

“I was a child!” he protested.

“It was last year,” she insisted. “Look, Daichi;s in the background with a hair band, and Asahi-san!”)

And it wasn’t the birthday he’d envisaged yesterday (alone because no one was around) or the one he’d nearly fled Tokyo for (a tearful reunion with Iwa-chan in Miyagi) or even the one he’d decided upon as soon as he’d seen Iwa-chan at the station (together and talking and so much more) but this was good. He had new friends whose company he enjoyed, and plans were being made to meet up over the holidays. Tomorrow he’d be practising and fingers crossed, Bokuto would also make the team.

He was happy that they were all here, but he reserved his softest smile for Hajime.

Because most importantly, Iwa-chan was there and they were working this out.

 It was around two hours later when the group began to break up. Akaashi got to his feet, saying he really had to be back as there was an early practise at school. He bowed, accepted some money from everyone for the food (looking very surprised when Bokuto coughed up his share) and started to check his phone for bus times.

“Bokuto-san, are you returning with me?”

“Uh... I’ll stay. Think I should go back to my room.”

“Hmm, and get no sleep,” Tooru jumped in. “That’s not a good idea.”

He glanced at Hajime, who understood completely and gave a small nod, but before he could make the offer, Sawamura said, “Stay at ours. Kuroo and Morisuke aren’t around, so you can have a proper bed.”

“Ah cool. I gotta bag o’ stuff, and homework to catch up on, so I won’t be any trouble.”

“You’re never trouble, Bokkun,” Tooru cooed, “and I’m glad to see you back.”

They trundled off, but Akaashi stayed a little longer, helping Hajime clear plates while Tooru waved the others goodbye and thanked them for coming. He closed the door and then hovered in the hallway, pondering an idea, one that when he thought about it had been percolating in his mind for a few weeks now. Voiced drifted towards him, and he stopped thinking, meaning to take over the dishwasher loading duties.

“You enjoyed practising today, Iwaizumi-san,” Akaashi stated. “Is your knee any trouble now?”

Tooru stopped in the doorway.

“It’s fine. Not even stiff, and yeah, it was fun. Bokuto’s kind of inspiring.”

“He is. He’s exhausting, but worth the effort.”

“Not sure I’d have stood a chance making the team with him here,” Hajime said, rinsing a plate before he stacked it. “But then again he’s the sort of player that makes everyone play better.” The china clinked. “Bit like Oikawa.”

“ _He_ is exceptional. Chikara had mentioned him. Kageyama-kun is in the same mould, I think.”

_Stop being childish, Tooru-chan,_ he told himself as he tried not to scowl.

“I’ve not seen much of him this year,” Hajime was saying. “He was cut up to go out at semis, but then everyone is.”

“Chikara could barely speak,” Akaashi replied with a sigh. “I’d hoped we’d see them at Nationals, but it wasn’t to be. Hopefully they’ll qualify for Spring High.”

“You’re sure you’ll make it?”

From where he stood, Tooru couldn’t see Akaashi’s expression but he heard the smile and confidence in his next words. “You have to go into every tournament and every match believing you’ll win, you know that, Iwaizumi-san.” He placed the last glass in the dishwasher and stepped back.

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, good luck with Inter High,” Hajime said.

“Thank you.” he cleared his throat. “Not that I want someone of your talent in opposition, but will you play for Karasuno now you’re fit?”

Tooru’s felt his breath constrict.

“Ennoshita asked you to pump me, did he?” Hajime asked.

Akaashi gave a soft throaty chuckle. “I haven’t told him I’ve met you ... yet.  _I’d_ like to know so I can plan accordingly.”

“Not sure where I’d fit,” Hajime said. “They’re a good team and I know you shouldn’t rely on luck, but they _were_ unlucky with Hinata’s injury.”

_He’s dodging the question._ Tooru slunk further into the lounge, because if they turned round now, then Hajime would know he’d been listening. His mind catapulted him back to Kitigawa Daiichi to the game he was subbed out of when Kageyama had trotted on sending Iwa-chan a toss of sublime quality.

And he waited for the pain to sting, for the tentacles of jealousy to wring around his heart.

But to his surprise, there was only a twinge of envy. Not against Tobio for being a genius setter, but that he could be the one to send Iwa-chan to Nationals.

_He deserves that,_ he thought.

“Tooru, Akaashi-kun’s about to leave,” Hajime called out.

“Ah, fine. Um, is this your bag?” Tooru asked, snatching up a scruffy carrier full of books.

“Not mine.”

“I think that’s Sawamura’s,” Hajime said, peering inside. “Yeah, Law books. You better text him. Anyway, good to meet you, Akaashi-kun, and good luck.”

“Thank you.”  He bowed to them both, slipped on his shoes, and then left.

They were alone again, Hajime sat and finished up a little more of the food, patting the space next to him. “You’re looking thoughtful,” he said to Tooru.

“Because I’m thinking,” Tooru murmured. “I wanted to say something. Um, Iwa-chan, about you and um play –” And just then his phone went off. “Dammit!”

“Isn’t that Hoshiyo-neesan?”

He blinked. “Yes!”He scrambled for his phone, unsure whether he was pleased at the interruption or whether he wanted to curse her for not calling in another five minutes. “I’ll speak to her. And then, Iwa-chan, I’ll devote myself to you for the rest of the day.

“Neesan!”

“Happy Birthday, Tooru!” she sang, fortunately giving up after the first line. “How do you like the present I sent?”

“Hmm?”

“Your reunion with Iwa-chan!” she scolded. “It was me who persuaded him, not that he needed much persuasion. He has told you we met, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, he has.”

“And how is he? How are _things_?”

“Things are good thank you, Neesan,” he replied frowning a little at her intonation.

“You haven’t broken up then?”

“Um ... what?”

“Tooru ... don’t you dare tell me you’re just good friends. I found out everything from Hajime.”

“IWA-CHAN!”

“What?” he looked up from the book that had fallen out of Sawamura’s bag.

“WHAT HAVE YOU SAID TO NEESAN ABOUT US?”

“She guessed!”

“He’s right, I guessed,” Hoshiyo soothed. “Look, don’t blame Hajime, I’d suspected for a while especially when you were so miserable in Tokyo. And I thought that was why you wanted to talk to me without Takeru being around. Or Mum. Especially not Mum.”

“No, something else, actually, but ...” Tooru glanced at Hajime, who was now flicking through the book, and seeing he was distracted, wandered into the kitchen. “Why especially not Mum?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Because if Hajime’s right and she worked out you two are ... um ... together then she’s not going to be happy. It would explain the a few things she told him, anyway.”

“Told him what?”

“All that stuff about Shiratorizawa, and how you’d given up a place. And changing to Sendai University instead of going to Tokyo. As if!”

“She said _what_?”

Hoshiyo stopped, and he could hear her whistle in a breath. “Have you not talked to Hajime?”

“Yes, but he didn’t tell me it was Mum who gave him that idea. Why wouldn’t he say?”

“Oh come on, Tooru, he knows how much you love Mum! Why would he shatter that for you?”

_Really?_

“But ... I can’t believe she’d say those things. It’s like she was deliberately trying to keep us apart.”

“Use your brain, little brother,” she said, exasperated. “Appearances matter to her – they’re her way of having control in her life. It was bad enough having an unmarried daughter knocked up. Having a gay son does not suit the image at all.”

“But she can’t know!”

She’d come home when they’d been in the bedroom. So what if she _had_ arrived earlier?

“She wouldn’t leave us alone after that,” he remembered, aghast. Hajime had biked over, and she’d stayed in the room, engaging both in conversation, not letting them leave for Tooru’s bedroom.

It explained a few things. Who was he kidding? It explained everything.

Appearances mattered. And then, once more, he was seeing a green carpet, and hearing an argument go way over his head. Not his Mum and Dad, whose disputes had punctuated his childhood, but two shrill voices, incoherent in rage and almost hysteria.

“Tooru, are you still there?”

“Yes. Uh ... Neesan, I needed to ask you about something else.”

“Oh, right. I’m guessing it’s important.”

“Um, it might be.” He cleared his throat, and gave her a brief outline of the run-in with Kato, leaving out the part about the subsequent threats, only saying that the police had dropped the case.

“Okay, so what do you want me to do about it? Although I don’t mind coming up there now and kicking their asses. Bastards beating up my brother!”

“Well, they didn’t touch me, but thanks anyway. No, it’s not that. I’m thinking about that night, and there’s something making me remember England.”

“Really?” She sounded wary. “What about it?”

“The sick carpet for one thing,” he joked.

Hoshiyo laughed and her voice relaxed. “Very expensive for a carpet of vomit,” she said.

“You had a fight with Mum,” he said quickly, adding before she interrupted, “I was hiding in my den behind the sofa and heard it all.”

“What about it? We rowed a lot.”

“But it was about your clothes and Mum said she could ‘smell it on you’ and ... I remember the smell. Sort of sweet and smoky. A bit musky, too.”

The wariness returned, and he could hear her closing a door and wondered if she’d shut herself away.

“Why are you bringing this up now, Tooru?” she asked, her voice low. “It was nearly thirteen years ago.”

“I think the guys who beat Suga up smelt of the same thing and I ... I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but if I have any sort of leverage then it would really help.”

She swallowed. “Okay, you probably should know, and really it wasn’t a big deal in England, but well, it is here, and Mum ... I understand why she was angry.”

_Neesan._ He pleaded silently for her to get to the point, and it must have worked because she cleared her throat and when she spoke again she sounded far more business-like.

“Mum caught me smoking,” she said. “She was absolutely furious and disgusted. It’s part of the reason we returned to Japan because she didn’t like the apparent bad influences I was mixing with.”

“Smoking? Oh.” He felt a dragging disappointment at something so mundane.

“Tooru, not cigarettes. I’d been smoking pot.”

“What?”

“Weed. Waccy-baccy,” she muttered. “Mary Jane. Do I have to spell it out?”

“Um.”

“Marijuana, Tooru.” She paused. “I’d been smoking it with friends, and she wasn’t at all happy.”

_And there’s our lever!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small explanation. Smoking and possession of marijuana isn't treated lightly in Japan where it's akin to harder drugs. There's a big stigma associated with it, and the possibility of a five year jail sentence.


	42. Mobbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definition of mobbing: (of a group of birds or mammals) surround and attack (a predator or other source of threat) in order to drive it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you have a lever, you need to consider the best placement of said lever.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” Hajime muttered.

Walking shoulder to shoulder with Tooru in the university cafeteria, the sounds of china chinking, and the excited chatter of students close to the end of term filled his ears, Hajime was hard pushed not to feel a pang of what could have been. 

“It’s fine. Bokuto brought Akaashi-kun here yesterday and he’s not even of college age.” He slowed his pace as two girls crossed their path, and then gestured to a table in the corner.  “There’s Fujita-san.”

He followed Tooru’s gaze, taking in the girl who was sitting by herself, tapping on her phone, glancing up intermittently. Seeing Tooru, she raised her hand and put her phone away.

“This is Iwa-chan,” Tooru said, pulling out two seats. “Iwa-chan, this is Fujita-san. She’s in my Psychology class.”

“Um, hi,” she chirped, blinking as she greeted Hajime. “Uh ... Iwa- um...”

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Hajime put in, shooting Tooru a sour look. “Excuse Oikawa, he still thinks he’s five.”

“So rude.” Tooru flapped his hand in the air, then turned his encompassing smile on the girl sitting opposite. “Thank you for agreeing to meet us.”

“Ha, well, it sounded so mysterious, especially when you asked to meet up alone.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is this about Kato?”

“Very shrewd,” Tooru replied.

“I can’t tell you any more about that night. I did see the confrontation but I honestly didn’t get a chance to record it.” She bit her lip. “If you do want me to go to the police then I will, but I’m not sure it will do any good.”

“It’s not that.” Tooru sipped some of his take out coffee.

“Um, then what?” She glanced nervously at Hajime, so he sat back thinking perhaps he’d scared her when he leant forwards.

“Don’t worry about Iwa-chan, he may look like Rottweiler but his bark is worse than his –”

“Oi! I’m not Kyoutani!” He cuffed Tooru’s head, then splayed his hands out to as if in supplication. “I’m visiting this idiot and he’s dragging me about with him. I can sit somewhere else while you chat, if that’s better for you.”

“N-no, that’s fine.” She smiled and a giggle escaped her lips. “I didn’t think Rottweiler, but who is this Kyoutani?”

“Ha, long story.”

“Connected with volleyball, I bet,” she replied, sighing. Then she sniffed. “Okay, so what do you need to speak to me about?”

“Media Studies is your minor, right?” Tooru asked.

She nodded.

“And Kato takes that too, doesn’t he?”

“Mmm, he was at the cinema that night we went with Bokuto-san.”

“Then... has he been skipping any classes?”

She laughed. “Has he been to any, more like! Katois good at turning up for the social events, but if there’s a lecture first thing, then he’s very unlikely to make it.”

“What about that other guy?” Hajime asked.

“Ando? Hmm, I’m not sure what he’s taking.”

“He’s Media Studies, too,” Fujita replied promptly. “Seriously those guys give us a bad name. Everyone already thinks it’s a soft subject and those two are the biggest slackers. Sensei isn’t happy. Not that she’s said anything to us, but on the off-chance one of them is there, she’s very pointed in her comments and as far as their end of term essays go –” She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening. “Why do you want to know? What is this about, Oikawa? Their attendance has nothing to do with that night!”

“The police have dropped the case,” Tooru began. “So, no this has nothing to do with that night, except it does because he now thinks he’s got away with it and ... how do I put this?”

“Know your enemy,” Hajime murmured. “It’s the way Oikawa captained our team, finding out everything he could so he could target weaknesses.” He smiled slightly. “He’s ruthless.”

“Practical,” Tooru stated, and turned his eyes back to Fujita. “He’s threatened me. Whether he’d actually have the nerve to carry anything out, I have no idea, but I’d rather not leave that to chance.”

She took a deep breath, stiffening her shoulders and paused before asking, “So what do you want me to do?”

Tooru smiled at her, not trying to charm, but in a genuine way. “Nothing. We just needed to know that what we suspected might be true. Thank you.”

“And you couldn’t have texted me?” she muttered.

“We haven’t had coffee together for a while, Fujita-chan,” Tooru replied, and Hajime swore he fluttered his eyelashes. “Maybe I miss your company because you’re preoccupied with someone else.”

“OOOh, you are an idiot!” she said and scrunching up her paper napkin she threw it at him.

“I will buy you coffee,” Tooru replied. “And a cookie.”

“Another time,” she said. “I’m meeting ... uh ... Well, never you mind.” She got to her feet, hoisting her bag over her shoulder, and as her cheeks flushed, Hajime was struck by how pretty she was. “Nice to meet you, Iwaizumi-san.”

 

“Okay, so that’s good,” Tooru whispered as she loped off.

“It’s a start,” Hajime told him.

“It will help Bokkun’s complaint. Maybe. And if I’m right about the other, then...”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It was a long time ago and for all you know they both have really poor taste in body spray.” Hajime drank some of his coffee, then gently jostled Tooru’s shoulder. “You have no way of proving anything.”

“It’s a matter of holding one’s nerve, Iwa-chan. And having an exceptional poker face for a bluff.”

“Yeah, but you get overexcited.”

“I’m not thinking about me.”

“Who? Sawamura?”

Tooru waggled his hand. “Possibly, but if you remember when he played, he was exceptionally good at motivating his players but lacked something in the winding up the opposition department.”

“Which is something you’re good at, if you can stay calm.”

“I can do calm,” Tooru replied mildly. “But I lack a certain technical knowledge.”

“Want me to pretend to be a scientist?” Hajime laughed. “Gimme a white coat and a pair of glasses and I’ll out geek everyone.”

“No, what we need is an expert in provocation who can sound utterly convincing when he expounds on science and medical matters.” The right corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “It also helps that he knows one of them from school.”

“Is there a reason you’re being this enigmatic beyond wanting to sound cool and in the process pissing me off?” Hajime yawned.

“Patience, Iwa-chan.” Draining his coffee, Tooru stood up. “I have to go to practise. Will you come along?”

“Do you want me there?”

“Of course, but only if you want to be there.” He paused, and plucked on Hajime’s sleeve. “If it’s too hard to watch, then I’ll understand. You could stay here, or go back to the apartment and I’ll come straight home. S-sorry, I should have thought.”

“Oikawa, I’d like to watch. It was good yesterday, and yeah, it is hard sometimes, but I ... I want to see how you’ve improved, you know.”

“Really want you here,” Tooru whispered, and gripped Hajime’s hand. “It was so unfair.”

“It is what it is,” Hajime replied, squeezing back before he relinquished Tooru. “C’mon, you can’t be late.”

And he felt peaceful as they strode towards the gym. Something in his gut was telling him that this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was simply because he was here with Tooru right now and they were on the same path, meant the fact he’d not made it didn’t sting as much, or maybe it was something else, but he was happy for Tooru and not sad for himself.

 

Tooru, being Tooru, had left it to the last minute getting changed, rushing into the changing room and pulling off his trainers for his volleyball shoes and issuing a flurry of introductions and apologies in even breaths. It was a tactic he’d used before matches, trailing off to talk to his fans, a way of distracting his mind from the task ahead, but using the same tactic before practise was something Hajime hadn’t seen for years, not since their first day at Seijou.

“See you out there,” he muttered, bending down to pick up the shirt Tooru had dropped and hanging it up on the hook. “You’ll be great.”

“Ha, yes, well, let’s see.” He looked around. “Where’s Bokkun?”

“Uh, in the gym, along with ... Oh, that looks like the Nekoma guy. Kuroo, isn’t it?”

“Great, he’s back.” Oikawa’s smile was positively beatific.

It clicked. “The science guy and wind-up merchant.”

“Correct. How clever of you to remember.”

“Oikawa-kun, when you’re ready!” shouted someone from the door.

“Coming Nakajima-san. Iwa-chan are you sure –”

“I’ll sit down. Oh, Sugawara’s there too with her brother. I’ll sit with them. Now go and be awesome!”

“Ha, it’s just practise.”

“Keep telling yourself that!”

 

He watched Oikawa run out to the gym, then snuck through the other door and wandered up to the row of seats Sugawara had sat in. She grinned at him, then switched her attention straight back to the action.

“Things okay?” Sawamura asked, sounding light.

“Yup. Oikawa and I had coffee with Fujita-san,” Hajime replied, one eye on Sugawara. “You left a bag of library books at his.” He handed them over, wrapping the plastic over them. “For the course, yeah?”

“My light holiday reading,” Sawamura laughed. “I’m going back to Miyagi next week and need something to do.”

“Meet up with Asahi,” Suga said. “And the guys. Go and terrify the new first years!”

“They’ll be at training camp. I’ll leave that to you, but you’re not allowed to wind up Kageyama too much,” Sawamura replied, sounding stern. “I will definitely drag Asahi out sometime. Or maybe I’ll crash the Neighbourhood team.”

“You’ve met Asahi now,” Suga said to Hajime. “How’s he doing?”

“Um, good, I think. Working hard from what he says. He turns up when he can, but I think he’s enjoying it. He goes jogging with Matsukawa.”

“Friends with a Seijou Middle Blocker,” Suga said. “Oh, the _betrayal_!”

“We’re friendly with Oikawa. Never thought that would happen first time I met him,” Sawamura quipped. “He met us after that practise match, you know.”

“Tried to intimidate you. Yep, sounds like him.” Hajime sat back in his seat. “He came back to the dressing room not looking nearly as pleased with himself as he thought he would be. But ... uh ... you know, he really did respect you guys before that last game. It wasn’t just after. We all did.”

“Oikawa-san has such a fierce serve,” Sugawara breathed, leaning forwards. “Wish I could get half that power.”

“It’s aim, too,” Suga replied.

“But how on earth does someone receive that,” she continued, her eyes glued on Oikawa as he strolled back to pick up another ball.

“No idea,” Sawamura laughed. “Seriously, I don’t know.”

“You were very brave and highly skilled,” Suga replied and smoothed his hand over Sawamura’s knee.

“Ew, gross!” Sugawara grimaced and pointedly turned to Hajime. “You must excuse my brother!”

Hajime crinkled a smile at her. “Think I’ll survive. Who’s up next?”

“Bokuto,” Sawamura muttered.  “Keep your fingers crossed.”

“Why?”

“Because, Chi-chan,” Sawamura replied. “He can be erratic and he’s been away for a week, so it’s anyone’s guess what will happen.”

Collectively they held their breath as Bokuto began his run up, then equally collectively, they heaved out sighs as he unleashed a serve of immense power that skirted the back line.

“Since when did it get so nerve-wracking watching a practise?” Suga whispered.

“And frustrating,” Sawamura grumbled. “Wish I wasn’t going back to Miyagi.”

 _Wish I was here now,_ Hajime thought. Tooru fist-bumped Bokuto, the small congratulation between the pair of them alone, and he knew it was stupid because Hell knew they would never have been playing together forever, but there was a part of him, he realised, that had hoped it would always be the same.

Two kids, two boys, two teens – perpetual teammates. The Setter and Ace. The connection so sharp it wrote its own story.  But this wasn’t a story, it was life and Tooru had moved on. Of course he’d had to. No one could stand still or be stuck in that groove of youth and sunshine, but Hajime wasn’t sure he’d ever felt the loss as powerfully as when he watched Oikawa with a player of the stature of Bokuto Koutarou.

And perhaps he was drawn by the intensity of Hajime’s thoughts, perhaps they really did share a psychic connection, but right at that moment Tooru looked across the court, his stare scorching into Hajime.

_You’ll always be my Ace_

Receive practise followed and Sawamura stopped chatting, watching intently, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Hajime could practically hear his thought process and watched as he minutely shifted his body in response to each receiver. Next to him, Suga had sat back chatting a little to his sister. His gaze flicked to Hajime.

“Tooru said you’re planning to come here next year,” he said.

“That’s the plan.”

“Law, like Daichi?”

“Yup.”

“You should come over some time and pick his brains about the course.”

“Yeah, I might, thanks.”

Suga chuckled. “It will help me, honestly. He gets very lawerly and tries to talk to me about cases and I - ”

“You retaliate by trying to have deep and meaningful conversations about what’s going on in my brain, Koushi,” Sawamura remarked, a little sourly. “If you want to come around, or meet up in Miyagi, then I’m only too happy to help.”

“Are you staying here for summer?” Sugawara asked.

Hajime shook his head. “Week or so. Wouldn’t mind seeing this tournament. But I’ve got a placement over summer, so I need to be back for that.”

“Solicitors office?” Suga asked.

He shook his head. “Miyagi Herald, actually. My sensei – well, I guess he was yours too – Abukara – he sorted it out for me.” He stopped speaking as Suga stared, his mouth agape. “Have I said something bad?”

“Wow, no, just the opposite!” Suga replied, and nudged Sawamura. “Iwaizumi has Abukara’s approval!”

He’d returned to watching the practise, but rubbed his ribs in response to Suga’s elbow. “Huh?”

“Abukara-sama has sorted out a placement for Iwaizumi,” Suga said, his voice rapid. “ _The_ placement!”

“Oh ... wow, that is an honour.” Sawamura swivelled back to them. “Not something he’ll do for anyone, or even every year.”

“Really? He didn’t tell me that.”

“We thought it was a myth,” Suga replied. “There were rumours, of course, but no one knew anyone who’d actually been selected, so obviously we thought it was rubbish and then in our third year …” He paused, probably for dramatic effect.

Daichi continued, only slightly more pragmatically, “Someone in our class actually asked him about it –”

“And,” Suga jumped in. “He said, and I remember it very clearly –” He pursed his lips, puffed on an imaginary cigarette and then quoted in a crackling kind of voice, which could have come from Abukara himself, “’If anyone reaches the _required_ standard, then I’m only too happy to recommend them.’  And we never heard a squeak about it again.”

Hajime ran his hands down his face, thinking at how casually he’d accepted the offer, and tried a joke. “No pressure then.”

“He must think a lot of you,” Suga was saying.

“I thought he was just, I dunno, being kind.”

“HA! No chance,” Sawamura snorted. “Jeez, that guy scared the fuck out of me when I first turned up. Had a detention my first week.”

“No you didn’t!” Suga rapped. “You _nearly_ got one. Stop scaring Iwaizumi.”

“Not scared,” Hajime muttered, relieved it was true because although Suga and Sawamura had now added to the pressure – however unintentional – he was excited too. He’d been picked for something, not just a fortunate happenstance, or a sensei looking out for a pupil, but because he deserved it.

Because Abukara-sama thought he was worth it. And that worth wasn’t measured in how fast he could slam down a ball on court.

 

The practise over, Hajime sat outside the gym waiting for Tooru. Suga had disappeared with his sister, saying he’d return as soon as he’d walked her back to the meet up with his mother, leaving Sawamura to sit on the grass with Hajime.

“You like your course then?” Hajime broached.

“Yup.” Sawamura crinkled his eyes up against the sun. “I know it’s early days, but I find it fascinating. I always have, I guess. We’ve been looking at contract law this term, and, it’s the sort of thing most people would say is really dull but looking at the details and how the loopholes allow employers to get away with ... well, so much shit ... it’s really fascin-” He laughed self deprecatingly and ruffled his hair. “I’m rattling on and repeating myself, it drives Suga mad, but at least you have some idea about it.”

“Mmm.”

He was saved having to give a more detailed reply by the clatter of the door, and Bokuto bursting out into the sunshine.

“AHHHHHH!” he yelled to the sky. “THAT WAS SO GOOOOOOOD!”

“Calm down, you dumb owl,” Kuroo said, biffing him on the back of the head. He raised his hand. “Yo, Sawamura!”

“Hey. Come and join us. You’ve met Iwaizumi, haven’t you?”

“Once or twice,” Kuroo replied and sank to the ground, stretching out his long legs in front of him. “How’s things, Iwaizumi?”

“They’re good. You did well in there.”

“Got some good blocks in, but I’m not sure it’s enough,” Kuroo replied. He was picking at the grass, splitting a blade with his thumbnail. “Not like Bokuto, who seems to have leap-frogged over all the second year Wing Spikers to land a team spot. Despite skiving for a week.”

“I didn’t skive,” Bokuto said, and sprawled in front of them. “Got some practise in with the guys, that’s all.”

“And your college work?” Kuroo said, chucking a handful of grass at Bokuto.

“Got some sleep, got some work done. And, like, Akaashi had this idea that if I emailed my tutor, then he might, like, go easy on me, ‘cuz it’s only the first term, and everyone’s settling in. I got a meeting with him tomorrow. Tutor, I mean, not Akaashi.” He sighed happily, then lay back on the grass. “Life is good!”

“’Til you’re sleeping through class again,” Kuroo muttered under his breath. “Oikawa’s just coming, by the way.”

“He was showering,” Bokuto put in. “And singing.”

“Badly,” Kuroo replied. “And he’s really got crap taste in music. I mean, show tunes.” Something soft landed on his head. “What the fuck?”

It was a sports towel and glancing up, Hajime grinned as Tooru and Yaku Morisuke headed out the gym.

“Nothing wrong with show tunes,” Yaku growled, whacking Kuroo as he retrieved his towel.

“You have no taste, Kuroo-chan,” Tooru agreed. Winking at Hajime, he flopped on the grass next to him. “Where’s Koushi?”

“With Chiharu,” Sawamura replied. “He’ll be back soon.”

“Hope so,” Tooru said, and stifled a yawn into Hajime’s shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“We _could_ do this another day,” Yaku said.

“No, Sunday’s the best because otherwise they have timetables that conflict with ours,” Tooru replied. “And we do need to do this before the end of term. Agreed?”

There was an assenting murmur, except from Bokuto who roared a ‘Hell, yeah!’ It lightened the tension. Putting on sunglasses, Tooru stretched out his legs, knocking his thigh against Hajime’s and basked in the sunshine. Effortless and natural, as if they’d never been apart. It reminded him of the previous summer, lazing around after practise with Mattsun and Makki before Oikawa would rush off, rolling his eyes because he was late meeting his girlfriend.

And Hajime had watched him go, trying not to let the dull feeling in his chest spread to his face, but at the time it was as if the sun had gone in.

“You look very intense,” Tooru said. He’d turned his head and was peering down his nose at Hajime. “What’s up?”

“Remembering last summer,” he replied simply.

“All our plans,” Tooru replied, softly, turning his face away from the others. “Wasn’t all a waste, was it?”

“No.” The he quirked a grin at Tooru, hoping to lighten the sudden tension that had creased across his face. “Got some decent ramen out of it every time you mucked up your serve.”

“You’re cruel, Iwa-chan.”

“Hey.” He clasped Tooru’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “No regrets about anything, right? Besides, if we’d won, who knows what would have happened.”

“What?” Tooru started forwards. “Iwa-chan, what do you –”

“Hey, sorry,” Suga cried out, striding towards them. “Mum was late and I didn’t want to leave Chi-chan by herself.” He rolled his eyes. “Wish I’d been able to. She talked about nothing else except how amazing Oikawa-san is.”

“Sit down?” Sawamura suggested. “We were about to talk tactics.”

“Hmm, no time for that,” Suga replied, the smile leaving his face. “They’re in the cafeteria now.” He clapped his hands, looking grimly determined. “Come on, my pretties, it’s show time.”

Placing his hand on Hajime’s shoulder, Tooru levered himself to his feet, then pulled Hajime up to standing. “Won’t be long, I hope,” he murmured. “You can stay here, if you’d like, or wait in the courtyard.”

“Sure.” Tooru didn’t need him for this, and Hajime recognised, without bitterness or any regret, that it was something he had no part in beyond a sympathetic ear.

He walked with them all, watching as Sawamura twisted his fingers into Suga’s, Kuroo keeping up with Bokuto, who was steaming ahead, and Yaku stolidly determined, walking just behind Kuroo.

Sawamura pushed open the cafeteria door, and Hajime’s plan was to walk straight through, no glance back, leaving them to do what they had to, but on hearing Sawamura’s tssk of annoyance, he hesitated.

“Oh damn that’s annoying!” Tooru said.

Hajime stalled. “What’s up?”

“They’ve been joined by two other people,” Tooru replied. “I have no idea who they are.”

A cheer went up from Kato’s table and one of the guys stood up, flexing his fingers and wincing.

“That’s Ueda,” Bokuto said, craning his neck. “He’s on my course.”

“Which one?” Kuroo asked.

“The one sittin’ down,” Bokuto replied. “Baseball player. He’s cool.”

“Is he their friend?”

Bokuto shrugged. “Not that I know. He’s kinda laid back and friendly with everyone. Likes a bit of a competition. He’s okay.”

“Competition?” Tooru asked, and his hand plucked Hajime’s arm, drawing him closer. “What sort?”

“Challenging people to stuff. Like, our first day he challenged me to eat three raw chillies.” He grinned. “I won.”

“He’s currently engrossed in conversation with Kato,” Suga said, sounding irritated. “Not sure we can break them up, not without looking suspicious.”

“We need a decoy, something to draw Ueda’s attention away from Kato and Ando,” Yaku said.

“Uh ...” Hajime exchanged a look with Tooru. “I could help... possibly.”

“Please don’t feel you have to,” Suga said immediately.

“You can’t do anything that’ll get you into shit,” Sawamura said, putting a restraining hand on Hajime’s shoulder.

“Yeah, don’t go picking a fight to cause a distraction,” Kuroo added. “We’ll all get thrown out.”

“You said he liked challenge, right, Bokuto?” Hajime asked.

Tooru was grinning at him, a laugh gurgling from his throat.  “You saw, didn’t you?”

“Too right.” Removing Yaku’s baseball cap, Hajime tugged it down over his head. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it would work well enough so Kato and Ando didn’t recognise him straight away.

“Hold up! What are you planning?” Sawamura protested.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Tooru said, and peeled Sawamura’s hand off Hajime arm. “Go, Iwa-chan!”

He strode forwards, adrenaline starting to pump through his body, his eyes scanning the tables around. The cafeteria had thinned out, and he guessed that was normal for a late Sunday afternoon towards the end of term, so there was no real danger of anyone else joining the three at the table. Ueda, his target, was supping his water, his eyes flicking around the room, not really listening to whatever the other two were talking about.

“Mind if sit here?” Hajime asked.

“Sure?” Ueda shrugged.

“Why here?” Kato asked. “Lots of other tables.”

Fair point. Hajime licked his lips avoiding their faces and slunk into the seat opposite Ueda. “Saw that last bout,” he said, and smirked. “You like arm-wrestling, right?”

“Yeah. Why? Want a challenge?”

“Why not?”

“Should warn you, I’m pretty good,” Ueda boasted. “And I don’t go easy on challengers.”

“Neither do I,” Hajime replied, and crinkled his eyes at the sides, assessing his opponent. “Bring it on.”

 

“Okay, look, he’s got Ueda’s attention,” Tooru whispered. “Let’s get in now.”

They filed in, Tooru at the rear along with Suga, Kuroo leading with Yaku, Sawamura and Bokuto in between. Hajime was loosening up, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his fingers before he began. Opposite Ueda was grinning, but his brows had furrowed, beetle black until they met in the middle. He was big, taller than Hajime and with large biceps (probably useful when wielding a bat) and next to him, Hajime looked the weaker of the two, but then he’d held the Seijou record for two years running, beating off many older and apparently stronger contenders in the course of his reign.

When they were almost at the table, Hajime set the peak of the cap to the back of his head, then shot a glance at Kato.

The effect was immediate, Kato scraping his chair back alert to the danger, and kicked Ando. The latter leapt to his feet, but Kuroo and Yaku had got to him and looping their arms in his, steered him to the end of the table. Kato’s face blanched, torn between staying and leaving, he was blocked by Sawamura and Bokuto, finally coming face to face with Suga and Tooru.

“Kato-chan,” Tooru began. “We need a chat.”

“I’ve got nothing to say,” Kato replied.

“But I have,” Suga stated, and stepped closer, placing his hand on Kato’s shoulder. “So you can listen.”

“Hey, Ando, long time no see,” Kuroo began, propelling him into another seat. He sat one side of him, Yaku the other, neither giving an inch as Ando stared glassily from one to the other.

“What do you w-want?” Ando stammered.

“A chat, like Oikawa said,” Kuroo replied.

“It’s for your own good,” Yaku said. “As one Nekoma alumnus to another.”

“Uh.”

“If I yell, everyone’ll know you’re trying to intimidate me ... uh ... us,” Kato hissed, and pushed his face closer to Suga’s.

It was an attempt to scare, but Suga kept his face straight and didn’t move, except to wipe some spittle (real or imaginary, Tooru didn’t know) from his cheek.

“Nuh-uh,” Kuroo crooned. “Why would you want to get us into shit, when we’re here to do you guys a favour?”

“GAH! Another go! Best of three!” Ueda yelled from the end of the table.

A few people had gathered and Tooru saw Hajime bob up to apparently flex his hand but in reality to check Tooru’s progress. He nodded across at him, then sat back down.

“’K, Ueda-san, best of three, if you want!” he retorted, raising his voice.

“Think they’re more interested in the challenge, Kato-chan,” Tooru whispered sweetly. “Now, why don’t you take a seat and listen to what my good friend Kuroo is going to tell you.”

“Why should –”

“Eleven-nor-delta nine-tetrahydrocannabinol-nine-carboxylic acid,” Kuroo said, leaning across the table, hand on Ando’s back to push him forward too.

“What?”

“Delta nine T.H.C. C.O.O.H., is the abbreviation,” Yaku added.

“Or THC, if you’re in a real hurry,” Kuroo finished.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Kato demanded.

“Eleven-nor-delta nine-tetrahydrocannabinol-nine-carboxylic acid is a metabolite,” Kuroo replied. “It’s excreted in urine.”

“What?” Ando stared from one to the other, even more confused.

“Piss,” Yaku said helpfully. “You excrete it from your body when you go for a piss.”

“Liphophillic,” Kuroo said.

“That’s fat soluble,” Tooru whispered loudly to Kato. “It’s amazing what you can find out using the internet.”

“What is?” Ando asked.

“Most cannabinoids are liphophillic and are stored in fat,” Suga said, and gave a small nod to Kuroo. “That is the medical term, isn’t it?”

“Correctomundo, Sugawara-kun. And being liphophillic rather than hydrophilic – that’s water soluble – means that cannabinoids hang around in the body for longer.” Kuroo tipped his back in his seat, taking them all in, twisting his mouth into a smile. “Now, I’m a med student, right. Only in my first term, but we’ve been looking into the effects of drugs.”

Tooru glanced over his shoulder. “Sawamura, what would happen if someone tested positive for marijuana?”

“Kicked off the course for one thing,” he replied.

“Is that all?” Tooru asked.

“No, the college would probably report it to the police. And they’re pretty rigorous in these things. Habitual users get five years, more if they deal.”

“And the disgrace even if you don’t go to jail,” Tooru rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“Your dad works in local government, doesn’t he?” Yaku asked Ando. “Wasn’t he once a candidate for Mayor?”

“That’s right!” Kuroo crowed. “Real bigshot!”

Kato wiped his hand over his mouth. “No idea what you’re on about.”

“BEST OF FIVE, THEN!”

_Oh, nice going Iwa-chan._

“My boyfriend,” Tooru drawled, smirking at Kato, “told me you stank yesterday. He was very concerned about your body spray.

“So what!”

“But I think it was something else, not just poor taste in deodorant. The night you punched Suga, I think you’d been smoking pot,” Tooru replied. “Both of you, and that would change things if the police found out.”

Ando flinched, but Kato thinned his lips, tightening them over his teeth. “You’ve got no proof. You’re just fishing. Alcohol, yeah, we’d had one or two, but anything else – no way. Isn’t that right, Ando?”

“Yeah, yeah. Alcohol, that was all.”

But Tooru continued, on surer ground now. “I used to live in London, and ... my mother was always very careful to ensure I didn’t wander down any _disreputable_ alleyways. Marijuana has a very distinctive smell, and it’s not really one you forget. Sort of sweet and rancid. And you _reeked_ of it that night, and you reeked of it yesterday.”

“It would only take one word in the right ear, and you’d get tested,” Suga said, edging in from the other side. “You’re not exactly one of the college stars they’d be desperate to keep, are you?”

“And from what I’ve heard,” Yaku said, _sounding_ pleasant, “your tutors won’t be fighting for you to stay.”

“Some of them aren’t even sure who you are,” Tooru added.

“Bigshot-san won’t be happy about that,” Kuroo said.

“You fucking pieces of shit!” Kato seethed, and jerking upright, he practically banged heads with Tooru. “You’d get me chucked out of here. Ruin my whole fucking future because –”

But Tooru sat there and smiled his charming smile.  Play this right, add the maximum amount of authority and underline with a hint of a threat and ... “Hitting me now, or hitting any of us, isn’t going to help.”

“What do you want?” Kato muttered. His breathing was ragged and hollow, his eyes boring into Tooru’s then flicking away, taking everyone surrounding him, resting finally on Ando.

“I’d like you to stop beating people up for one thing,” Tooru replied sweetly. “Also, leave Bokuto alone.”

“That it?” He rolled his shoulders, bravado kicking in.

“Quit being a dick.”

They all swivelled around, all apart from Kato and Ando amused that Bokuto had suddenly spoken.

He loped over, and reached over carding his fingers through Kato’s hair. “Honestly Kato, you’re a piece of shit. Some of us are, like, so pleased to be here, getting this chance and you ... you like spunk it all away.”

“What are you going to do?” Ando rasped.

And even thought there’d been no discussion, all eyes swivelled to Suga.

“You assumed something about me,” he began slowly. “And that led onto a series of assumptions and opinions and got mixed up with your prejudices and view of people, and ... you know, I really want to be the bigger person here, to say ‘hey, let bygones be bygones’ to shake your hand in some agreement that we can live and let live. But –”

He stopped speaking, and stared up at the ceiling. Sawamura touched him on the shoulder, and that brought him back.

“What was it, Kato? My hair or something? The mole under my eye? The way I speak? I know I rattle on sometimes, but I don’t even remember talking to you, and yet you took one look, maybe you overheard me talking to Bokuto, and from that you decided it was okay to punch me.”

“Wasn’t just me,” Kato said sullenly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo drawled, draping his arm over Ando’s shoulder. “But this guy’s the monkey and you’re the organ grinder.”

“And it wasn’t you I was getting at,” Kato continued. He flicked his head towards Tooru. “He’s the asshole. You got in the way.”

“Bullshit,” Suga retorted. “You lashed out and didn’t care when I fell.”

“You got in the way. It was an accident,” Kato insisted.

“An accident that your foot slipped repeatedly into my ribs?” Suga hissed. He sucked in a breath, ragged, and jerked back, turning away.

“I didn’t want to be there,” Ando whimpered.  “I’m sorry.”

“You crossed the line when you crossed that road,” Tooru replied when Suga said nothing.

Ando leant across the table, his eyes imploring. “Please, don’t tell the police or my dad.”

“Sug?” murmured Sawamura.

“I’m a better person than both of you,” Suga replied, sounding resolved. “Tooru is as well. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he can be an asshole.”

_Hey!_

“So can I. All of us, really, we’re just assholes in varying degrees. But you two, I don’t care about your reasons. I don’t care, Ando, if you think you were led astray, and you can stuff your apology. You hold an abhorrent opinion that you think justifies me landing up in hospital. It doesn’t. So, I’m still thinking,  ‘why don’t I just go back to the police, and tell them what I suspect?’”

“You can’t prove any of this,” Kato said. “By the time the police or college makes any move to test us, we’ll be clear.”

Oh... Tooru glanced at Kuroo waiting for him to jump in, to confound them all with science, or for Sawamura to tie them in knots with some impressive legal jargon (even if they was making it up on the spot) or even Iwa-chan to loom over and make physical threats.

(But from the noise at the other end of the table, Iwa-chan was still arm wrestling and had a growing army of fans.)

“We-ell,” Kuroo began. “You’re kinda right. He is kinda right, guys. If the cops did a urine test, then they could have pissed everything out by the time they did it, depending when their last toke was, and whether they’re long term users.

“We’re not,” Kato smirked, he scraped his chair back, shaking off Bokuto’s hand. “C’mon, Ando. They got nothing.”

“Although...” Kuroo reached across and in a surprising gesture of affection, twisted his fingers through Ando’s shaggy hair. He tugged suddenly.

“What the fuck, Kuroo!” Ando yelped and shot up, his hand rubbing his scalp.

“Shows up in hair for ninety days,” he drawled. “Gah, isn’t science wonderful.”

“So...” Kato stepped further away, pulling on a beanie. “Don’t bother me.”

Bokuto grinned, and held up his hand to reveal three or so strands of Kato’s hair. “Wanna bet?”

“Fuck you! You can’t fucking do this to me.”

“I think we just have,” Tooru replied.

“Please,” Ando gulped.

All eyes again were fixed on Suga, but he looked at Tooru before holding Sawamura’s gaze.

“Go away,” Suga said at last, scorn rippling through his voice. “Like Bokuto said, stop being dicks. But if anything like this happens again, I will tell the college authorities what we know and I’ll go back to the police.”

They scurried away, it was almost laughable the way Kato hurried to put distance between them all, no sign of bravado in his ungainly sprint. And when they’d gone, and there was no chance of them coming back, Tooru felt a hot wave of relief mixed with elation, exactly the same as winning a match, wash over him.

Beside him, Suga grasped the table, gritting his teeth as colour flushed his face. “Ughh!”

“Hey, we won,” Sawamura soothed.

“I’d have liked one punch,” Suga said. “Dammit, I’m too big a person!”

“BEST OUT OF NINE?” cried Ueda.

 “Ueda-san,” Hajime replied, rising from his chair. “I’ve beaten you four times, already. But thank you, that was a good workout.”

Tooru started to laugh. He smiled at his new friends, delighted at the outcome as he reflected how teamwork came about, and how when people meshed together, they could make anything happen.

And then he stepped towards his old friend, the one who’d always, always, _always_ been there, and had taught him the importance of friendship.

“Thank you,” he whispered, enveloping Hajime in a hug.

“You beat off the bad guys and saved the day, right?” he muttered.

“We did.”

“Good.”

“How come you lost a bout? Are you slipping, Iwa-chan?”

“I threw it,” Hajime said, and flexed his arms above his head. “Had to give the guy some hope, didn’t I? What in the end made them back off?”

“Um, combination of a lot of things,” Tooru said. “And Bokuto snuck in with a sneaky feint and some sustained pressure right at the end. Just hope Kato doesn’t attempt reprisals.”

Hajime cleared his throat. “Look, you could offer him a bed. You do have a spare and it’s only until the end of term.”

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s not my apartment, Oikawa. Not really up to me, but he’s a decent guy and well, he’s ... uh ... your teammate, and I know you’re concerned.” He swallowed. “He’s your Ace, Tooru.”

“He is,” Tooru replied, then blinked seeing a sudden fleck of pain jar through Hajime’s eyes. “In a game. It’s like you once said, you’re still the partner I can boast of, you know. My Ace, my Vice Captain, my friend. And next year-”

“Stop this, your friends are going to think I’m beating you up if we both start crying,” Hajime rasped.

“But... we are moving on,” Tooru continued, trying hard to batten down the lump in his throat, to keep his voice steady. “And I was dumb to ever think you had to be the one to stay the same, to keep me happy. You don’t owe me anything, Hajime, and I’m sorry if I made you think that way. You should –” He stopped

 _Be playing,_ he wanted to say, he knew he _had_ to say, but Hajime had stopped his words with a look, a sigh and then a finger on his lips.

“Tooru,” he said. “It was always _our_ dream to play together. That’s not changed. We have achieved that. And I’ve got so many great memories, you know. And we can do this again, but I have to play properly.” His breath became ragged. “Fuck it, I’m going to upset so many people. You, Mum and Dad, but I can’t ... I can’t _not_ play. I want another chance and I don’t want you to hate me, but I’m going to come out and say this to your face.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to join Karasuno Boys,” Hajime stated. “I want to compete again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's only taken Hajime 42 chapters to admit it ...
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	43. Who's the Ace!

Early morning sparkled through the window, rays dancing on the glass as Tooru rose from the bed. Hajime was sprawled on the pillow, scowling even if he was supposed to be in repose. He debated waking him, debated letting him sleep, but as he reached out to stroke his shoulder a loud clatter from the bathroom woke him with a start.

“What the –”

“Bokkun is awake,” Tooru said, giggling.

Yawning into his pillow, Hajime closed his eyes again. “You’re both going jogging, right? You said so last night.”

“Mmm, we usually do, or had done until he did his flit. Sawa-chan said he was going to join us, too.” He leant over pressing his lips to Hajime’s brow. “Go back to sleep.”

“Come back to bed,” Hajime mumbled and reached across, his hand landing on Tooru’s back.

“I can’t,” he said, disentangling himself. “But stay like that and I’ll be back in an hour.”

“What’s the time?”

“Six. Go back to sleep.”

“Nah, I’m awake now.” Hajime yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I’ll come with you.”

“Really?”

“Mmm.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, still yawning as he ruffled his hair.

And Tooru was tempted right then to cancel the planned jog and push him back on the bed. But Bokuto was singing in the bathroom, and Hajime had already got up and was pulling on socks.

“I should warn you,” he said instead, “Bokkun’s fast, Iwa-chan.”

“That a challenge?” Hajime retorted, sounding a touch sour.

“No. But I don’t want you ruining your knee in some silly contest.”

“I’m good,” Hajime said, and flashed him the softest of smiles. “You know, I’ve not been standing still for three months, Oikawa. I have kept up training, just not been playing.”

“But you will,” Tooru stated, staring at the glimmer of light through the curtains.

“Yep, I want to.” He shuffled over and sat back on the bed. “But, Tooru, I don’t want me playing to cause more problems for us.”

Sniffing, Tooru rested his head on Hajime’s shoulder. “If I asked you not to –”

“I can’t do that. Please, please understand.”

“I do.” He smiled and kissed Hajime on the cheek. “I don’t think you should have to give anything up for me. It’s not ... healthy.”

“Like you not going to college in Kyoto, you mean?”

“Hmm, it’s not the same thing at all. I call that as a compromise.”

“Yeah, but compromise usually requires a discussion.”

“Too late now, and how would I take down Ushiwaka if we’d gone to the same place?”

Snorting, Hajime pushed him away. “You’re such an asshole, I love you.”

“What?”

“Uh...”

_Love?_

Tooru goggled at him, then feeling his mouth gape, he closed it hurriedly, and tried to compose a dumb smile. “Friendship love? Um ... No, don’t answer. It’s fine. Like a turn of phrase and yes, of course. Now, I should get ready too and full – no fill - up the water bottles because we’ll need them especially the speed Bokkun goes and you’re not to try to keep up with him if your knee starts to twinge and –”His babble was stopped, Hajime pressing his mouth to his lips. “Oh!”

“Yeah, I love you,” Hajime muttered. “Prob’ly should’ve said that before.”

And Tooru tried to speak, to yell that he loved him too, but the words wouldn’t come. His throat felt unaccountably dry but his palms were sweaty. It should have been easy, three words, and three words he used a lot about a myriad of things. How he loved milkpan, or cats, or the weather. Telling those around him he loved them, his fans, his teammates, a barista when she made coffee the way he liked it.

Three words.

He gulped, then as Hajime pulled away, no longer keeping eye-contact, he lunged for him, gripping him by the shoulder. “I love you, too, Hajime. I think I always have.”

***

Bokuto was leaping around when they reached the park, the smile on his face as wide as a sunbeam, eager to get to it, to get some air in his lungs and push for the finishing line. Sawamura appeared at a more leisurely pace along with Kuroo, who complained he’d been woken early and might as well join them all.

“No Suga this morning?” Hajime asked.

There was a wall of laughter from all of them.

“Suga doesn’t know what six in the morning looks like. I left him asleep and drooling on his pillow,” Sawamura chuckled. “So attractive.”

“You adore him really, Sawa-chan,” Oikawa chided. “How is he after yesterday?”

“Uh, good. Yeah, he’s good. Thanks.” He nodded to Hajime, including him in the gratitude. “It gave him closure facing them like that, I think.”

“Would he...” Hajime started, then looked away. “Sorry, not my business.”

“No, ask away,” Sawamura said. “You were part of this yesterday, so go on.”

“Would he go back to the police? They still attacked both of you and -”

“We did try that route,” Tooru reminded him.

“Yeah, but if it got rid of them permanently, then wouldn’t that be better? Sorry, you must have gone through all of this.”

Sawamura took a slug of his water, then screwed the cap back on, finally answering Hajime. “Honestly, I’d like them out of here. And I’d liked to have had a shot at both of them and rammed my fist in Kato’s face, but in the end it had to be Suga, and also Oikawa’s, decision.”

“Let’s run,” Tooru demanded, and took Hajime’s arm. “I don’t want to waste another second of this beautiful morning thinking about that repulsive creep. Come on, Iwa-chan, gentle jog first of all, and then you can show Bokuto your sprinting.”

“Oya, you’re a runner, right. Are you fast, Iwaizumi-kun?”

“Like the wind, Bokkun,” Oikawa answered before Hajime could get a word in.

And then he set off, tugging Hajime’s hand to join him, pulling him ahead of the others.

“Don’t think too badly of Suga’s decision, Iwa-chan. He has his reasons.”

“I still think you should go back to the cops,” Hajime muttered.”You could have ended up in hospital like Suga, Tooru.”

“Discretion,” Tooru replied. “Koushi’s parents are supportive of his relationship, but from what I’ve heard, Sawamura’s parents are ... uh ... not so fond.”

“Oh, right. I can understand that. Can’t be easy,” he said, and chewed his lip.

_Won’t be easy at all,_ he thought, _but we’ll have to tell them one day._

“Don’t worry,” Tooru breezed. “Their situation isn’t the same as ours.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to think about that right now,” he replied, “C’mon, let’s run!”

 

It was good weather to jog in. Not too hot this time of the day, but warm enough to keep the muscles relaxed, not slippery underfoot but not hard enough to jar his joints. If he could have changed to the beach, then it would have been perfect, but for now, jogging with Tooru and the ragtag bunch of guys he’d made friends with was enough. It was good.

It was towards the end of the second lap when Bokuto began to get twitchy. So far they’d all kept together, but Hajime had been far more aware of Bokuto as the run went on, and now, in what looked like a straight stretch under a row of blossom trees, Bokuto was clearly itching to sprint.

And so was he. Despite Oikawa’s warning and his concern, he wanted to test his speed, test his knee with some honest to goodness competition.

“Wanna go, Bokuto?” he asked, and began to increase his pace.

“Iwa-chan!”

“Nope, I’m escaping the leash. Bokuto, you up for it?”

“That a challenge?”

“Oh yeah!” Hajime laughed, and surged forward.

“RACE OF ACES!” yelled Bokuto.

With his eyes narrowed, focused only on the goal ahead, Bokuto began to run. His thighs were like steel as he pounded the ground, his arms pumping, and he eased ahead. Hajime’s muscles twitched at the memory; with no sign of burn and no lethargy in his legs, he sped up, and joined Bokuto, matching him step for step.

“GO BOKUTO!” yelled Kuroo.

“Hey!” Tooru said.

“He’s a Tokyo boy, can’t have him beaten by a country hick,” Kuroo laughed.

“GO IWAIZUMI!” Sawamura roared.

“GO IWA-CHAN!” Tooru joined in. “GO GO GO!”

Grinning, because he knew for all his genuine concern that Oikawa couldn’t halt his own competitive streak, Hajime strode on. By his side, Bokuto was working his arms hard and puffing like a steam engine. He edged ahead, and a tiny laugh escaped his lips as he lengthened the gap, putting daylight between them.

“THAT’S MY BOY!” Kuroo roared. “CITTTYYYYYY BOYYYYYY”

“Shit!” Hajime heard Sawamura say.

But Oikawa was silent, possibly holding his breath and sending silent prayers his way.

“YO YO YO!” Bokuto stormed on, now only meters from the finishing point.

And Hajime made his move. With his palms flat, and head down, he steamed on. Air rushed through his ears, and he could feel sweat on his brow. His heartbeat thrummed inside his head. And this was glorious, this was speed and life and everything good in his world. Bokuto raced on, but Hajime was closing the gap, pace-by-pace, step-by-step, breath- by- breath, his thighs burning but bearably so.

The gap closed. Bokuto – hyper aware – picked up his pace, trying hard to thwart the competitor who’d now moved alongside him. But it was too late. Hajime was in his stride, and there was no way he could concede. He overtook, running full pelt for the final tree, outstripping the Fukurodani Ace, and there was nothing now Bokuto could do.

“IWA-CHAAAAAAAN!”

He turned on his toes, punching the air. “WHO’S THE ACE!”

“Gahhhhh,” Bokuto wheezed. “You got me!”

His lungs hurt, and now bent over, Hajime held out his hand. “Good race, thank you.”

“We gotta do this again. Best outta three.”

“Not yet. I need to recover,” Hajime puffed.

“Iwa-chan, you were brilliant!” Tooru ran forwards, clapping him on the back. “I told you he was fast. Zephyrus, that’s what Neesan used to call him. That’s the god of the wind.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Kuroo muttered. “Bokuto, what happened?”

“Hey, he’s fast. I can’t win ‘em all.”

“But you lost, and that means I lost,” Kuroo complained.

“How did you lose?” Bokuto rasped. “You weren’t even running?”

“He has to do the dishes for the rest of the week,” Sawamura replied, grinning as he jogged at a far more leisurely pace. “Thank you, Iwaizumi. I know how fast Bokuto can go. You must be good.”

“My best distance,” Hajime replied, and smiled as he remembered a stretch of lawn and a boy running behind him, cheering him on. “And I used to get a lot of practise, eh, Oikawa?”

“Neesan would be proud,” Tooru said.

“Ready for another sprint?” Bokuto asked.

“Fuck no! Jeez, what are you on?”

“The question Science has long pondered,” Kuroo replied. “Essence of Bokuto Koutarou. If I could bottle it, I’d make a fortune, and Japan would have the best fucking athletes in the whole wide world.”

***

It was two days later and with Oikawa at a lecture, Hajime stayed at the apartment, flicking through a volleyball magazine and half-heartedly watching a crappy sit-com on TV.  He’d called his mum, assured the Chibis ‘Tooru-niisan’ would be back in Miyagi some time over summer, and had a scattered set of text messages with Mattsun and Makki, both of whom abused him soundly for being a prick, but both of whom he knew were delighted he’d made it up with Oikawa.

Bokuto turned up around two, bowling in with a bag over his shoulder, and an irrepressible smile. “Went back to my room to collect a few things,” he explained.

“Things okay there?”

He shrugged. “Pretty quiet. Kato was in the kitchen, but he locked himself in his room when I appeared. One of the guys was around and we chatted a bit. S’all cool.”

“Your room wasn’t trashed or anything.”

“Nope.” His grin widened. “I found out that some others have complained, too, including someone on the floor below ‘cause Kato and his lot flooded the bathroom and it dripped through his ceiling. He’s an artist, and it ruined some canvases, so ain’t happy at all.”

“Will they chuck him out for that?”

“Reckon he’ll get a warning.” He toed off his shoes, then loped into the kitchen. “D’you think Oikawa will mind if I cook something? I’m starving.”

“Doubt he’ll mind. You want a hand?”

“It’s only eggs. I c’n scramble them,” he said, and removed a box from his bag. He rooted around in a cupboard, finding a small bowl and cracked four of the eggs in it. “Sheesh, wish I could make pancakes like Oikawa’s dad. They were good. He was a pretty nice guy. ‘Course you must know him well.”

“Yeah,” he replied, noncommittally. “Oikawa-san travels a lot, so didn’t see much of him. Took us fishing once.”

“That’s kinda cool.”

“If you can keep still. Which we couldn’t.”

“Ah, right. Yeah. I’d prolly be bored, too,” Bokuto said.  He started to beat with a fork, the egg slopped over the rim, but he didn’t notice.  “My dad used to take me to a lot of sports games. He liked athletics the best, but was pretty stoked when I took up volleyball. And yours?”

“Ah, they were pleased I had something to channel my energy into. Not sure about now. Dad understands, I think. Mum – not so much. She’d have preferred me to have given up before Spring High, but ... well ... it was our last chance.”

“Yeah, there’s always that ‘what if’,” Bokuto replied.  He frowned. “Okay, Iwaizumi-kun, what’s the best way of making scrambled eggs?”

Stifling a laugh, Hajime fetched a small pan, melted some butter then added the eggs. Getting Bokuto to keep stirring, he found some bread to toast.

“Cool, thanks,” Bokuto muttered, haphazardly stirring. “So, is that why you ain’t playing now, ‘cuz of your Mum?”

“Sort of. Need to get good grades to study Law here.”

“Oh ... riiiight. I didn’t know. Keeps Sawamura really busy. He’s like, totally serious about it all. Doubt he’d have got away with fallin’ asleep in class like I did. Or Kuroo, come to think of it. Don’t think I could hack it. You must be real smart.”

“Uh... I have to put the work in.”

“Guess it’s worth it,” Bokuto sounded dubious, but whether it was over the scrambled eggs or the conversation, Hajime wasn’t sure.

“Law’s always been the plan,” he told Bokuto. “Well, since I was fifteen, I guess. Before then I was going to be a pro volleyball player, and before that I was going to collect beetles.”

“Beetles, huh. I wanted to own a cake shop when I was six, then I went to a match and all I wanted to do was play. Still do.”  Smiling to himself, he shovelled the slightly burnt eggs onto his toast and sat down to eat.

Hajime left him to his food, going to the bedroom to find a text book and make good on the promise to study while he was here. He found Tooru’s ipod and headphones, plugged himself in and started to tackle a series of quadratic equations, his pencil flying over the paper.

It was thirty minutes later when Bokuto poked his head round the door. “Uh, sorry to bother you, Iwaizumi, but ... uh ...”

“What’s up?”

“Uh ... I answered the phone, ‘cuz I gave my Mum this number just in case and she said she was gonna ring and so when the phone went, I did and ... uh ...”

“I doubt Oikawa will mind. Who was it?”

“His mum.”

“Oh...”

“She asked for Oikawa-kun, so I took a message and explained what I was doing here, and I thought maybe that wasn’t okay with her, and maybe she thought I was some kind of burglar, ‘cuz she went kind of quiet, so then I thought if I got you to speak to her, then it would all be fine, ‘cuz she knows you and –“

_Shit._

“What happened?”

“Well, nothin’. She hung up.”

_Shit._

“Are you alright, Iwaizumi-kun?”

“Uh ... yeah.  Don’t worry about it.”

_Fuck Fuck Fuck!_

 

“Answer your phone, asshole!” Hajime yelled, when the phone clicked to voicemail for the fifth time. The landline had been silent, and he’d chewed the side of his thumb down to the quick with impatience.

“Look, I gotta go,” Bokuto called out. “I’m meeting my tutor, but if I see him, I’ll get him to call you.”

“Yeah, sure ... uh ... tell him his Mum’s called as well, can you?”

“Sure.” He slammed the door behind him and started to whistle, not a care in the world.

Hajime tried Oikawa’s phone again, but no answer. He wondered if Oikawa-san had already got hold of him, or whether she was on her way to Tokyo.

_Or if she’s called my parents._

_Fuck!_

The door opened. He jerked his head up, half expecting her to materialise, and then his heart leapt to his throat when Tooru trilled a hello.

“Your phone,” he croaked. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Out of charge,” Tooru said. “Sorry, was it important?”

“Could say that. Your Mum ...”

“What about her?” He twisted around. “She can’t be here!”

“No, no, but she knows _I’m_ here.” 

While Tooru removed his shoes and hung up his bag, Hajime rapidly explained what had happened. He could see Oikawa’s eyes flickering, long lashes dusting his cheeks, as he took in the news and computed what to do.

“Iwa-chan, is it ... is it as bad as all that?”

He fidgeted, wondering how to phrase the idea in his head that his mum not only knew about them, but had actively tried to split them up. “Tooru, I th-think she knows about us.”

“Mmm, Neesan said as much,” Tooru remarked, and then he took Hajime’s hand. “Does that matter? They have to know sometime.”

_Do they?_

“I ... guess. But ... now?”

“You don’t want them to know? You’d prefer we lied.”

“No, I don’t want that either.”

“Then what? You’re ashamed, is that what this is about?”

“No ... NO!” Hajime yelped. “Of course not, but this is difficult. They’re not exactly going to be laying out the red carpet and throwing us a party!”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” Tooru replied, and tossed his head affectedly. “Your parents adore me. Who can blame them?”

Hajime didn’t rise to the bait, refusing to be sidetracked or jollied out of the situation. “As my best mate, not my boyfriend.” He clutched his forehead trying to ward off the encroaching headache that seemed to be bombarding him from all sides.  “Tooru, please, I don’t want my parents finding out from anyone else, okay? Especially not my mum right now. And it’s not that I’m ashamed or scared and I want to be with you, but you have to understand, they’re not likely to be happy about us.”

“So, if we told them face to face, then that would be okay?”

“Yeah. I guess. I mean, yes, it would be.” He clasped Tooru’s hand, squeezing his fingers. “We’re still dependent on them, that’s the problem.”

The ringing broke them apart, the landline’s chime rent through the air, slicing between them, and Hajime tried not to wince at the irony as they separated, he to the kitchen and Tooru to answer the phone.

“MUM! Yes, I’m so sorry,” Oikawa’s voice was cheery and light, like cherry blossom on the breeze. “My phone is out of charge. Have you been trying to get hold of me?”

...

“YES! I know. Complete surprise. He’s in Tokyo with the volleyball team. Could not believe it when I got home to see Iwa-chan sitting in the kitchen. Bokuto let him in. You’ve heard of Bokuto – Dad’s met him. You would not believe what happened in his Hall, but this idiot kept setting off the fire sprinklers, so he’s had to find another room. It’s only ‘til the end of term and for the tournament.”

...

“Hold on, Mum ...” He placed a hand half over the receiver, raising his voice as he opened the front door. “Iwa-chan’s about to leave, I must say goodbye.

 

“Bye Iwa-chan. Good luck!” he shouted to the empty corridor, then closed the door, and rolled his eyes at Hajime. “Okay, he’s gone. Ah, it was such a brief visit, but really he should have called first. So, how are you, Mum?”

He continued the call, affecting an air of idleness, chatting to his mother as he made two cups of tea.

“Tenth of August, I hope,” he said at last. “And then I have to be back in Tokyo for some lectures, which is very annoying but if I want to get a better mark, then I should put the effort in. You could come up then, if you wanted.”

...

“And is Dad coming up soon?”

…

“Ah, okay, well I wouldn’t be here much anyway, but I’ll see you both in Miyagi.”

…

“Yes, the tenth. See you then. Bye!”

He rested the phone back in the receiver. “How did I do?” he muttered, looking miserable.

“I know you don’t like lying to her.” Hajime draped his arms round Tooru’s waist, drawing him close and resting his head on Tooru’s back. “Thank you.”

“It’s not that.” Tooru sniffed. “You’ve been too kind to say anything, I know, but you’re right, and Neesan. She doesn’t want us together. The relief in her voice when I carried out that charade that you’d left was obvious. And telling me Dad wasn’t coming to Tokyo – complete backtrack on her story before.”

“I’m sorry. We always knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Did we?” He shook his head and practically crumpled in Hajime’s arms. “Iwa-chan, we’ve never discussed it at all.”

“Because it’s not anyone else’s business,” Hajime muttered into Tooru’s neck. “It’s between us. And we’re only just working it out, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“How was college?” Hajime asked, stroking Tooru’s hair.

He giggled. “Now you sound like my wife. Good day at the office, dear.”

“Shaddup!” He mock cuffed Tooru’s ear, then nuzzled it. “How is your course going? I’m genuinely interested.”

“Ah, it’s good. Psychology tutor is a complete moron, but the subject’s fascinating. So, before you nag me again, I can tell you that I haven’t done a dreadful thing choosing Tokyo over Kyoto.”

He nipped him. “And Astrology?”

“ASTRONOMY!” Tooru seethed. “I’m studying stars and planets and galaxies, not stupid fortune telling, Iwa-chan!”

“Found any aliens?” Hajime asked innocently.

He ducked as Tooru tried to take a swing at him, laughing at the indignation on his face, and then slipped backwards, toppling over. Bringing Tooru with him.

“Ow.”

“Serves you right!” Tooru exclaimed, not making the slightest attempt to move. “Where does it hurt?”

“I banged my head.”

“Soft landing then, Iwa-chan!”

“Ha ha. Get off me!”

“Nope!” Tooru pecked his lips to the tip of Hajime’s nose, then traced his mouth with one fingertip. “Are you bored here all day?”

“I brought some work with me. If you’d move, then I _could_ get on with it.”

He rolled off, lying alongside on the wooden floor. “What sort of work?”

“Maths.  Bit of science, and I’ve got some reading to do.”

“I could help.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He began to sit up, rubbing the back of his head.

Tooru stretched for Hajime’s hand. “How is Karasuno?” he asked, and squeezed tighter. “Genuinely interested.”

Resting his chin on his knees, Hajime considered, really considered, thinking about the past term, pondering his world since he’d switched schools. “It’s okay, you know. Classes are bigger than at Seijou, school is busier. Lunch queue is a nightmare, so I take a pack lunch. Water fountains are hit and miss.”

“What about the teachers?”

“They’re good. Oh, god, remember the guy with specs at their volleyball matches.”

“Mmm.”

“He’s the guidance counsellor too, so I’ve had him on my case about career options. Form tutor’s fine, she’s a bit enthusiastic about everything, and I had to do this whole ‘Take care of me’ introduction to the class.”

“Oh dear. Did ... uh ... anyone recognise you?”

“Only the new fucking volleyball captain.”

“Who is it? Monk-chan?”

“Nah, he’s Vice, I think. Captain’s Ennoshita. He’s the guy who stood in when Sawamura was injured.”

“Ah, I remember. Bet he thought it was his birthday when you walked in.”

“Something like that. I put him straight, though.” Chuckling, as he remembered Ennoshita’s persistence and how he’d stubbornly resisted, he thought back over that first day. “Then I met Shrimpy in the toilets. Poor kid, I scared the life out of him.”

“Eventful first day.”

“Yeah, it was,” he mused. Beside him he could feel Tooru’s grip slacken, so he tightened his and pulled Tooru to sitting. “There’s my Japanese Literature sensei, Abukara. Now, he’s pretty good. Looks like an old crusty, and is as sarcastic as fuck.”

“Can see why he’s your favourite.”

“He’s a good bloke. And a great teacher.”

“So it’s all very different from Seijou,” Tooru muttered and turned his face away.

“Well, I got into a fight with the Basketball captain, so nothing’s new there.”

And Tooru laughed, light and irrepressible, dissipating the clouds that had been in his voice as soon as he’d asked the first question.

“Will you get the results you need, Iwa-chan?” he asked, _sounding_ as gentle as a breeze.

“I’ve aced the tests. And I’m more motivated this time around.” He shot Tooru a sideglance. “Less distracted.”

“My fault.”

“Yeah totally. You know I’m better at working when I’m pissed off. Last few months I musta been too happy.” He soft punched Tooru’s arm. “I’m joking, you muppet. It’s been easier because I know what I have to do, and most nights I’m bored out my brain so all I do is study.”

They got up, relinquished hands, and wandered into the kitchen, Tooru fetching bottled water from the fridge and two glasses.

“What will happen if you play again, though? All that training – I can’t think Karasuno are less devoted than Seijou were, not the way I’ve seen Sawa-chan and Suga at practise.”

“I don’t know,” Hajime admitted, sipping his juice. “Hey, maybe I’m so unfit they won’t want me. That would solve everything.”

“Absolutely not!  If you’re trying out for a team, then you’re going to get selected, Iwa-chan! My reputation’s at stake here.”

“Er, what?”

“Right, I have practise every evening from five this week, and my lectures are winding down, so we can practise during the day. And you can come jogging with us while you’re here.”

“Oikawa, No! Bokuto will want more races.”

“Well, there is that, but I did warn you about challenging him.” He grinned.

“You’re not going to let me rest at all, are you?”

“No, and I’m also not going to let you skip your homework. Get on with it, while I fix a snack.”

 

***

It was the end of term, and Tooru left his tutorial with Takahisho with a recommended book list and a week’s programme for the summer lectures. His tutor had stressed that they weren’t compulsory, but in the same breath had hinted it would be a good idea.

“Unless there’s a family holiday booked, Oikawa-kun, then I hope to see you there ...”

“No holiday that I know of.” He flipped through the dates, mid-August meant he could either stay after the tournament was over, and return to Miyagi much later, or he could make two trips home.

Iwa-chan was working for the last two weeks of that month, so he couldn’t spend days with him, but they could go out in the evening, and he could catch up with Mattsun, drag him and Makki out sometimes, or even drop in at Seijou.

“How long can you stay for?” he asked that evening as they curled up on the sofa.

“Need to check. Think I should prob’ly go back after your tournament. I did promise to practise with the Chibis, ‘specially Koji.”

“Why Koji?”

“He broke his arm. We were getting his cast removed the day I met Neesan.”

“Oh, poor sweetheart.” That decided him. “I’ll go to Miyagi with you. I need to return for these lectures, but I’ll have plenty of time to help out.”

“You don’t have to,” Hajime mumbled.

“I want to,” Tooru assured him.  “Also, I was once told that babies can hear when they’re in the womb, so I need to make sure baby Iwa-chan knows who her favourite is.”

“Dumbass.”

“And,” Tooru replied, not in the slightest deflected. “I want to help Makki and Mattsun. They might need a nudge.”

“Yeah... I know what you mean, but I think really, it’s something they need to sort out themselves.”

“Like we did, you mean,” Tooru replied, and laughed a little. “Wow, Iwa-chan, do you hate them that much?”

“Ha, I take your point. What’s the plan?”

“Nothing yet. Just ... um ... Makki can’t give up his chance abroad, can he?”

“Nope, don’t think Mattsun wants him too.”

“So, what does he want?”

Hajime frowned and adjusted his position, tucking his legs underneath. “It’s seeing us move on, I think. Wasn’t so bad with me because I kind of moved sideways, but Mattsun’s staying in Miyagi, and although it’s what he wanted to do –”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, he said he’s always wanted to be part of the business.”

“So what’s the ‘although’ for?”

“Things came to an abrupt end, didn’t they? More for him, than us. You and Makki are both at college and still playing. I’ve got a second crack at it next year, and he’s ... well, he had given all that up. He’s eighteen and he’s got a job, and much as he likes it, he’s the only one of us who hasn’t or isn’t going to move away.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Also I’ve been moaning in his ear about you. I’m surprised he hasn’t decked me, to be honest.”

“You’ve seen him quite a bit, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same as seeing him every day when we were all working for the same thing. The most exciting thing that happens to me is getting a decent grade on a paper. Mattsun’s in the real world, but no one else he’s friendly with is.”

“We were pretty insular in that last year, weren’t we? Do you think we should have mixed more?”

Hajime shrugged. “Don’t think it would have made any difference. _We_ were always tight, and even when the other third years were around, we stuck together as a four.”

“True.” Unwittingly a memory drifted through his mind, of the four of them after practise, lying in the sun, one of those days when everything had been golden and they knew they’d win every match. But then he’d had to leave, remembering a date with Hani, and the loss of the other three, the loss in particular of Iwa-chan from his perfect day, had left him distracted and inattentive.

She’d sulked and he’d not even realised.

“Mattsun gets on with Azumane, and he’s liked playing again,” Hajime was saying.  “The Neighbourhood guys are okay, you know? Like, they’re proper adults, so understand about working.”

And last year, Hani had broken it off with him because he’d refused to stop his plans with Hajime on his birthday. Last year, he’d even invented a volleyball practise on a Monday, so he could bike over to Iwa-chan’s and help him amuse the Chibis.

“Do you ever hear from anyone else in our year?” Tooru asked.

“Nope.”

“Not even Yuda?”

“Think he’s in Osaka. I ran into some Seijou girls recently. They weren’t our year, though.”

“Where?”

Hajime booped him on the nose. “You jealous?”

“Not at all!”

Smirking, Hajime did at least try to stifle a laugh. Tooru uncreased his brow hoping he looked unconcerned.

“Who were they, though?”

“Your fangirls,” Hajime replied. “They were at the girls’ tournament, and Mattsun got them to cheer for Karasuno. Think they only did that because they thought you’d appear.”

“Oh. Anyone else?”

“Oikawa.”

“Yes?”

“Just ask, will you?”

“Don’t know what you mean?”

“You drifted off. You’re obviously thinking about something, or someone. So spit it out.”

“All right!” he snapped. “Ishi Tomaki, have you seen her at all?”

“What?”

“You did date her, right?”

“One date after that fairground thing. And it wasn’t even that.” He stared at Tooru. “Jeez, you are jealous, aren’t you?”

“No... not ... I’m curious, that’s all. You never talked about her, so I wondered.”

“We had coffee. Talked a bit, then I went to practise. That’s it. And no, I haven’t seen her this year. Don’t even know what she’s doing now. What’s this got to do with _anything_?” he demanded, his shoulders becoming rigid.

“Nothing.” Tooru feigned a yawn, hoping it showed his utter disinterest, and thought back on what they’d been talking about before, hoping to switch subjects. “Makki!”

“What about him?”

“I’m going to call,” he decided. “We’ll arrange a meeting, so you need to call Mattsun. We’ll get them together, lock them in a room or something and not let them out until they’ve kissed and made up.”

“It’s so crazy that it might just work, Junior!” Hajime mocked. “Uh, I still think we should leave it, or let’s get together as a four and see what happens. It’s not like they’re not talking. Uh ... What are you doing?”

_Phring. Phring._

“Calling Makki. Get hold of Mattsun now, Iwa-chan.”

“Oikawa, this is dumb!” But he reached across for the phone anyway, and punched in the number. “It’s ringing. Hold on, where are we meeting?”

“My house, I can lock them in Neesan’s old room, or better still the garden shed. Make it the eleventh.”

_Phring. Phring._

“Eleventh.”

“We won’t tell them the other is there, then you can distract one, I’ll let in the other-”

“We can sort that out later,” Hajime replied, and even though his face was a picture of scorn, he sounded excited. “Hold on. What happens if Makki can’t make it? Isn’t he working evenings?”

_Phring. Click._

“During the day, then? A morning as Makki won’t have a shift.”

Hajime shook his head. “Mattsun works then. Maybe make it a Sunday?”

“But I need to be back in Tokyo ... UGH! This is not coming together.”

Jumping, Hajime nearly dropped his phone. “Shit I’ve got through. Hi, Mattsun, it’s me,” he breezed with over-cheery familiarity.

“OH OH OH! Me too. Shhhhh... Hi Makki!”

“We _can_ hear you.” Makki’s voice came clear and chirpy through the receiver. “Both of you.”

“Hmm?”

“WE?” Hajime barked. He started to flush, and then held out his phone to Tooru. “They’re –”

“Together,” Tooru finished and started to laugh. “Hi guys, what are you doing?”

“Each other,” Mattsun drawled, through Makki’s phone. “Now, leave us alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last line has been making me chuckle for weeks. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I was going to post this yesterday but had to make a decision over one part when I was editing. Sleep is good!


	44. Rivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tournament and some unexpected faces in the crowd. Also, Suga is very sneaky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a hint of another ship in this chapter. It's kind of blink and you'll miss it, although peskychloe will find it without me prodding :D

It was the first time in over six months since Tooru had seen him, but there on the far side of the stadium, Ushijima Wakatoshi, in unfamiliar colours of green and black, stood with his new team.

He looked taller, if anything, even amongst his older teammates. And broader. But perhaps in Tooru’s mind he’d diminished over the preceding months and the reality before him was that he was unchanged.

But I have.

Tooru was stronger than in High School, and more adaptable. He’d realised from watching that match, where the upstart crows took down the eagles, that he’d he’d have to change, to reinvent himself, tweak a little, or be stuck in one mindset, one style and never move on.  Would Ushiwaka have been able to change his style of play away from the stifling atmosphere of a Powerhouse school? Did he need to? Had Kyoto adapted to him?

In the stand, Hajime was sitting with Suga and his sister, who’d stayed on to see the tournament. And sliding through the row, he watched Shirofuku, Akaashi-kun, a much taller boy, and also Konoha taking their seats in front of them.

He remembered Konoha’s words about always supporting his Captain, and wondered about the truth behind that statement. Would his loyalties be split? Or had his support flattened to neutrality?

Ushiwaka was looking his way, and although he wanted to pretend he hadn’t seen him, that his appearance was of utter non-concern to Oikawa Tooru, he couldn’t help but stare back. He received a lift of the hand, more of a salute than a wave, an acknowledgement that could also be perceived as a challenge.

“He’s a leftie,” he whispered to Yaku.

“I _know_. I watched the DVDs. And Nisinoya-kun texted me a few times.” His gaze hardened, and he bent over, placing his hands on his knees as he assessed Ushijima. “I like a challenge.”

“What’s the point of playing if you don’t?” Tooru agreed.

Bokuto stood with the Second Team captain, listening to last minute instructions, his focus complete. There was no bouncing around, no flickering eyes, just the intense stare of a bird concentrating on its prey. He’d jumped through the reserve pool by dint of the extra work he’d put in, a letter from his sensei stating the extenuating circumstances, and, the coaches recognised, his immense talent.

And he’d start. Tooru was on the sidelines, but had been told Satou’s place was not fixed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get on,” Yaku murmured.

“I do hope so, but if I don’t, I’ll be cheering you on.”

Bokuto’s smile was glimmering back on his face, and giving the captain a high five, he sauntered back, his eyes searching the crowd, giving his old Fukurodani friends a bow, before he approached Tooru.

“I got some good news and bad news,” he said.

“Really?”

“Mmm, the good news is we ain’t getting beaten by Ushiwaka today.”

“I do know that,” Tooru replied. “But I love your confidence, Bokkun.”

“Nope, it’s not that. He’s ... and this is the bad news. He’s playin’ for the first team.”

“WHAT! He’s a first year. How bad are Kyoto if they’re playing him?”

“A Japan youth team player,” Yaku warned.

Damn, that still rankled. “Yes, okay, but still!”

“Nah, it’s ‘cuz a lot of ‘em are struck down with food poisoning, so he got moved up,” Bokuto replied.

Which explained why he was still smiling and not seething with jealousy.

“Well, that’s annoying.”

“That guy there,” Bokuto continued, pointing out boy with a fierce expression, a hairband and quite a thick pair of lips. “Goura Masaki from Ubugawa. Really powerful serve.”

“Oh, ye-ah,” Yaku peered across. “Anyone else you recognise?”

“Not from Tokyo. Think I saw that guy at Inter-High. He’s a Middle Blocker. Can’t remember his name. You know anyone, Oikawa?”

“Oh...” He dragged his eyes away from Ushiwaka and to a shorter player, one carefully assessing the opposing team, his eyes resting finally on Tooru. “That’s Nakashima Takeru. Do not be taken in by his height. He’s a Wing Spiker and he’s excellent.”

“Hey, I played against Hinata-kun,” Bokuto whispered. “I take nothin’ for granted. Gah, that kid was great.”

A shriek went up from the crowd, Oikawa ignored it, but Bokuto’s ears pricked up, and his smile widened.

“BOKUTO-SAAAN!”

“He has fans here already?” Tooru whispered.

“Uh, one who’s very vocal,” Yaku replied and began to laugh. “Bokuto’s favourite pupil’s here.”

“What? Oh, Akaashi?” _Didn’t think he’d be the type who’d yell like a banshee._

“No.” Yaku directed his attention to the stands. “Over there.”

Orange hair, bobbing up and down unable to keep still, and alongside him, slouching into their row, Tooru’s very own ‘adorable’ kouhai.

“What on earth are _they_ doing here?”

“I did wonder when I saw Akaashi and Onaga,” Yaku replied, and his smile deepened as he lifted his arm to gesture to another group straggling in. “Must be a break from training. There’s Nekoma now, Tora’s late as usual!”

“UGH!” He continued to glare, his mind mouldering on Tobio’s perfect tosses, and that last spike that he’d failed to stop. _Dammit!_

“OI!”

“Huh?”

“Other side of the net!” yelled a voice.

Iwa-chan.  Tooru inhaled, felt the air inflate his lungs and hissed out a long, slow breath.

_He’s right._

_And as he’s going to sign up for Karasuno I really just have to suck this up._

***

Sugawara was fidgeting in her seat. At first Hajime assumed it was because she was eager for the match to start, but when he heard a tiny sigh, he adjusted his sightline and realised why.  Whoever the guy in front sitting next to Akaashi was, he was a giant. Taller than Mattsun and Kindaichi, and he seemed to have a really long head, too, so there was no hope of looking over the top.

“Want to swap with me,” he whispered. “Or we could move along a bit.”

At that moment, the girl sitting in that group turned her head and said a cheery hi to Suga. Her lips twitched when she saw Sugawara’s predicament, and she nudged her neighbour, a less tall blond guy wearing a Fukurodani training top.

For some reason, Hajime felt himself grit his teeth.

“Hey guys, why don’t we all sit together?” she said, and turned her smile from Suga to Sugawara. “You must be Suga-san’s sister. I’m Shirofuku, and I used to manage Fukurodani. I’ve been told you play?”

As Sugawara nodded (several times) the four from Fukurodani clambered over their seats, settling next to them.

“I should introduce you both,” Suga replied. “Guys, this is my sister, and this is Iwaizumi, from Miyagi. He’s Oikawa’s-”

“OH!” Shirofuku’s eyes lit up. “You’re ‘Iwa-chan’!”

He tried not to glower. “I guess.”

“You’re here! That’s wonderful!” she continued, and shifted along the row so she was sitting next to him. She lowered her voice to a hiss. “He’s been so miserable, but I’m sure he’ll be much happier now you’re here. You have made up, haven’t you?”

To Hajime, someone who was so used to concealing his feelings, Shirofuko’s openness should have been anathema to him, but somehow her disarming smile had him nodding back.

She offered him a sweet, and continued the introductions. “This is Onaga-kun, who is a Middle Blocker for Fukurodani, this is Akaashi-kun, our amazing Setter –”

“We’ve met,” Akaashi intoned and inclined his head. “Good to see you again, Iwaizumi-san.”

“And this is Konoha,” Shirofuku cut in. “He used to play for Fukurodani and is now the enemy cheering for Kyoto – BOOOOOO!”

“Hey, I came to see Bokuto!”

_Konoha ..._

He’d wondered why his hackles had risen when the guy sat in front of him. Something about that exact hair shade, and now taking him in, connecting his smile (smirk!) with the name, Hajime was hard pushed to stifle the snarl building inside of him.

But the guy was grinning at him, and leaning across Shirofuku. “Ah, the famous Iwa-chan. Good to meet you at last.”

“Is it?” he hoped he sounded neutral, but from Konoha’s reaction and Shirofuku’s flinch he’d clearly come off as more aggressive than he’d intended.

“Uh, yeah,” Konoha replied, moving back a little. “He’s talked about you ... a lot. I was expecting a halo and wings the way he went on, not ... uh ... that pitchfork.”

“He ... talked about me?”

“He banged on and on about you,” Suga interrupted from the other side.

Jeez!  “Really?” He tried to stop his mouth curving into a smile.

“Yes, he was very boring and -” Suga stopped speaking, alerted by a loud yell of ‘Bokuto-san.’ “Should I be offended that my kouhais are clearly _not at all_ interested in seeing me?” He raised his hand. “Hey, Hinata-kun, Kageyama, over here!”

“Why are they here?”

“Tokyo training camp,” Akaashi murmured. “We have an unexpected few hours off, so some of us decided to come here.” Turning to the source of the noise, Akaashi’s impassive expression briefly lightened, and he sat taller, drawing attention to where he was sitting.

“Is it the whole team?” Hajime wondered out loud. Then he smiled as Kinoshita appeared, a camera round his neck, Ennoshita and Narita following just behind.

“Tanaka and Noya went to buy new trainers, as they’ve worn theirs out,” Ennoshita explained as he moved along the row, taking a seat next to Akaashi rather than staying near Suga. “They’ll join us later.”

“And Tsukishima?” Suga asked, and looked around. “Also, where’s my other Team B member? What have you done with my sweet Yamaguchi?”

“Over there,” Narita replied, pointing to the other side. “You know, Tsukishima, he’d much rather be by himself so we can’t tell how interested in the game he is.”

“SUGA-SAN!” Hinata bowled up to them, smile wide as he bounced along the aisle. “Hey, this is gonna be so exciting? I c’n see Bokuto-san already, and Yaku-san’s playing. I really should text Nishinoya-san –”

“Already have,” Kinoshita butted in. “Hi Iwaizumi-san. Didn’t expect to see you.”

“Visiting Oikawa,” he muttered.

“Gahh, the Grand King,” Hinata sighed. “Hope he’s playing.”

“Think he hopes that, too,” Suga murmured, flashing Hajime a look.

“He’s not?” Kageyama questioned, speaking for the first time. His eyes focused on the warm up, and Satou who was tossing to one of his Wing-Spikers.

“He will. The Setter they’re using isn’t, in my opinion, as strong,” Suga replied, “but he has more experience. Also, this is a round robin tournament – like the matches we had in  Camp - so they mix and match a lot. It’s possible Kuroo will get a game tomorrow.”

Tooru was looking their way, and even from this distance, Hajime recognised the mood setting in. He yelled out support, reminding Tooru that his only focus should be his actual and not perceived opposition. And then he sat back to ponder on that need for a nemesis and whether Oikawa Tooru would ever be happy, or did he need those rivalries to keep him going?

 

As the players divided into two, the realisation that Ushiwaka would not be playing against Tooru and Bokuto, struck a strange chord in Hajime’s heart. Part of him wanted to see just how Tooru would deal with it, whether what he’d longed for since Junior High could finally happen, but another part of him, a darker part, leapt a little at the news because ... he gulped down the thought but it re-emerged.

_Fuck it, I want to be the Ace that takes him down._

His attention was split between watching the first teams battle, and the second teams go to work, and it was while he was watching, he saw how uneven the team spread was.

Tokyo’s second team were easily outplaying Kyoto. Bokuto leapt out his skin to spike balls, roaring as each one hit the ground, and that surprised the spectators who’d expected more of a fight from Kyoto.  But the first teams were more evenly matched, and Hajime, despite his loyalty to Tooru, felt his attention drawn to the more balanced match. It to’d and fro’d, no breaks given.

And Ushijima Wakatoshi looked superb. He was stronger, Hajime thought. And there was more fire about him. It was as if he felt he had something to prove, perhaps the new environment had kick-started a desire inside of him, or maybe it had been an earlier event - his eyes flickered towards Suga who was also watching, and Kageyama sucking on a drink as he took in the Tokyo Setter pulling off a dumpshot – a match he should never have lost that spurred him on. Better than he was at Shiratorizawa.

But not unbeatable.

“Hey,” Sugawara nudged him. “Oikawa-san’s coming on.”

He jerked his head back, fully focused on the scene in front of him, watched the barely there high five Tooru exchanged with Satou, and put his hands together in an approximation of a prayer.

“I’m moving closer,” Kinoshita said, lifting his camera. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah,” Hajime stood up. “I’ll join you.”

 

The call on wasn’t an exact surprise. Despite the game going all Tokyo’s way, Satou wasn’t playing as well as he could. Over confident because of the weak opposition, he’d fluffed a few tosses, and latterly he’d relied too much on one of the second year Middle Blockers to get points.

He’d thought, having taken the starting spot, that he had nothing to prove.

And Tooru was going to prove him wrong.

In the vanguard, Bokuto was on his toes, alert to every possibility. He’d been playing out of his skin the entire time, and putting away even the sloppiest of tosses from the Setter. Kyoto’s second team had clearly suffered the fallout from the food poisoning outbreak, but Tooru wasn’t going to make it any easier for them to claw back some respectability.

Slightly disconcerted to see Hajime on his feet, he wasted a precious second checking where he was going, only getting back to the game when Iwa-chan’s direction became clear and he was moving closer. A boy was with him, vaguely familiar, although Tooru was sure he’d not faced him on court, but when he saw the camera, it clicked.

_That must be Kinoshita, he of the amazing jump float serve!_

And for some reason that irritated him.

_Focus!_

Hajime was in the front row now, leaning across on the barrier, eyes only on Tooru. He didn’t dare look across, or smile or do anything that could possibly put him off, but steadied himself in the centre of the court and waited for the serve.

It was from Goura, the Wing Spiker Bokuto had mentioned. And it was a strong serve, with power and aim and a fierce spin, but Yaku was equal to it, deftly propelling it straight to the Setter.

To Tooru.

He was an unknown quantity to most of them there, but then again for all he knew they’d been watching DVDs of his matches, and Ushijima might well have briefed them. There was no time to second guess, but to play to the team strengths or perhaps his own.

The Blockers guessed wrong, one shadowing Bokuto, so Tooru took his chance and rolled the ball over in a classic dump shot.

And amongst the cheers, he heard a laugh, guttural and hearty, and there was Iwa-chan, pleasure and pride lighting him from within.

“Show off!” he catcalled, but he was grinning.

Kinoshita was showing his camera to Iwa-chan, pointing out something on his screen and Hajime’s smile deepened to one of awe. He gave Tooru a thumbs up, then settled back in his seat to watch the rest of the set, while Kinoshita continued to snap.  And tripping down the steps, came Sugawara, her ash blonde hair dancing around her cheeks, and a smile almost as bright as her brother’s wreathing her face.

He was happy, passing a remark to Kinoshita, and pointing something out to Sugawara, seemingly content to watch, although Tooru would have bet his volleyball socks that Iwa-chan was itching to play.

Bokuto’s serve gained them more points, a no-touch Ace and then one Nakashima got a touch to. He winced and shook out his arms at the receive, complaining of cannonballs, but settled back into formation with no more muttering. The third serve, their Libero scrabbled into the air, sending it to the Setter, who tossed outside left. The ball hit the net, bobbling along the top before dropping the other side. A point for Kyoto, one of those things that couldn’t be helped, but whether Bokuto would see it that way, Tooru had no idea.

He turned, half expecting to see the worst, a dejected Bokuto, but luckily, Bokuto had brushed it off with a flip of his hand.

When it came to Tooru’s serve, a rotation later, following a small flurrying comeback from Kyoto, largely due to Goura scoring from a back attack, and then a quick from Nakashima, he took the ball in his hands, spinning it between his fingers. At Seijou he’d been indulged with a timeout before his serve, but here he’d never made it an issue. It had got to the point where he could close his eyes, visualise what he needed to do and he was in that zone. So with what he hoped wasn’t over-confidence, he walked to the back line and began his run up.

The toss was high, his control complete, a slight misstep on his run-up did not daunt him as he slammed the serve, scorching it across the net and directly at their stand-in Captain. He fumbled the shot, having very little control, but managed to hoof it to the Setter.

Kyoto’s second team Setter tried a dump shot. And failed. Calling for that ball again, Tooru gathered it in his arms, then risked a look to the sidelines. He winked at Hajime, received an embarrassed grin in return, and unleashed his weapon once more.

Tooru served for the set. And won.

 

He stayed on for the next set, and Hajime felt the unfamiliar warmth of certainty curl round him as he watched. It wasn’t often that you could say a match was over when the second set had barely begun, but Tooru looked so good, and his connections with the other players were so accurate it was hard to see how Kyoto could make it back from this. 

They’d switched ends, so Hajime shuffled along keeping in line with the Tokyo vanguard, and a short while later he was joined by an over excited Hinata, desperate to watch his hero, and Kageyama who looked as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome.

“Are Tokyo that good, or Kyoto that bad?” Kinoshita pondered aloud as he lined up a shot waiting for Bokuto to spike.

“Konoha-san said they were ill,” Sugawara explained. “I didn’t know why he wasn’t playing, you see, and he said he’d not been sure he could make it, so hadn’t signed up and had come back early. Then he found out that the squad had a meal last night and half of them ate bad shrimp ... or something. He’s watching this through his hands, right now.”

“First team are holding their own,” Kinoshita said.

Hajime screwed up his eyes to check the score of the other match. “Just, but Tokyo have a break. Is ... uh ... Konoha a decent player?” he asked, hoping he sounded casual.

“Ah, he was amazing.” Hinata replied. “Could set as well.”

“You tended not to notice him when Bokuto was on form,” Kinoshita said, “plus they had another Spiker who was great ... uh ... what was his name? Saru something?”

“Sarukui,” Kageyama put in when Hinata struggled to remember. “Konoha-san was efficient. Good at receives.”

_Great, a fucking good allrounder_.

They watched on for a while, and soon Tooru’s turn to serve came around again. Bokuto had strung together a series of decent serves, and Tooru was clearly eager to do the same, his eyes flickering around him.

“Don’t lose focus,” Hajime muttered under his breath, and sent a silent prayer Tooru’s way.

Beside him, Sugawara held her breath, and Hajime was pretty sure Hinata did too. Kageyama, on the other hand, sucked on his straw, his eyes narrowing as he studied Tooru’s form.

Not an ace this time; the Captain pulled off a good receive, but it wasn’t enough to convert into a point for Kyoto as the Tokyo player timed his block to perfection.

“How is he so good?” Sugawara squeaked as Tooru served another ace. “I know I could never get that power, but if I had a fraction of that talent.”

“It’s not just talent. Oikawa’s phenomenal, but he also works harder than anyone I know. He’s honed that serve. You can learn.”

“Iwaizumi-san has a pretty awesome jump serve too,” Kinoshita said.

“Yes! That’s right, you do! Could you teach me?”

“Uh ... I could give you pointers, but possibly your best bet is -” he muttered, then stopped speaking because Tooru unleashed anther serve, and this time it painted the line. “FUCKING BRILLIANT!”

Hinata goggled. “Haaa, he’s so cool!”

“You were saying?” Sugawara asked.

Uh... He tried to recap the conversation. Oh, right, serves. “Uh, yeah a jump serve like Oikawa’s or –” He nodded to Kageyama who’d moved to sit next to Hinata “- Kageyama’s for instance, is effective ‘cause it not only has aim and intention, but is incredibly powerful. It might not be for you...” He trailed off watching as Tooru began to spin the ball between his hands again, and Sugawara kept quiet, respecting where his focus was.

The ball skimmed the net, slowing its power and into the arms of the Libero, and Kyoto at last got another point.  Scowling, Tooru moved steadying himself for their serve.

“Uh, you could try a float serve,” Hajime told Sugawara. “Unfortunately, I’m not an expert but there are two pretty good players who’ve mastered it on the boys’ team, one of whom isn’t sitting that far away, isn’t that right, Kinoshita-kun?”

Kinoshita blushed, and covered his face with his camera, but he didn’t refute Hajime’s testament.

It was Oikawa’s last serve of the match, but he continued on court until the end, sending toss after toss to the spikers, conducting the match with ease and flair. It was while they lined up to bow, that Ennoshita skipped down the steps.

“Hisashi,” he called. “Hinata, Kageyama, we need to get going.”

“Yup,” Kinoshita replied. “Let me get a few more shots.”

“S’fine.” With a nod, Ennoshita ushered Hinata and Kageyama towards the exit, then shuffled towards Hajime. “How is Tokyo, Iwaizumi-kun?”

“Pretty good. How’s Training Camp?”

“Pretty good, too. We’re coming together. This –” He gestured to the courts “- was a small break for us. Instructive, though.”

“How long have you been in Tokyo for?”

“Ah, we had one weekend, then we returned for two weeks. We’re half way through that now. We’ll return for two more weekends.” He smiled. “Perks of seeding means we won’t have to play in the preliminaries.”

“And for when you’re not here?” he asked, injecting a note of idleness in his voice, as if he wasn’t at all interested.

“Karasuno gym, practise matches, same as you did at Seijou, I imagine,” Ennoshita replied. He’d taken his attention away from Kinoshita now, and flipped his gaze to Hajime. “You _sound_ interested.”

“Making conversation,” he remarked gruffly. “And ... er... the girls’ team might want to watch some serve practise or something.”

“Thought you weren’t coaching them anymore?”

“I’m not.” Dammit, why did Ennoshita, even when speaking in soft tomes, sound like he was interrogating him? “Sugawara wanted to know.”

“Did I?” She perked up, “Um, sorry, what are we talking about?”

“Serves,” he replied firmly, defying her with look to disagree. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be going, Ennoshita?”

He smiled, and the lids on his eyes seemed even lower as if he were hiding a joke from the world. “We’ll be in the gym over summer when we’re not here,” he replied, and then grabbing Kinoshita’s arm he left.

With Suga saying goodbye to his former teammates, his sister sat with Hajime for a while longer watching the conclusion of the first team match. It was a win – just – for Tokyo, unsurprising as Kyoto weren’t supposed to be at full strength, but you took victories where you could.

“Hey.”

Hajime broke off his conversation with Sugawara to see Tooru blocking out the light as he towered above them.

“Hi there. All done?”

“For now. There are two more matches between the other two colleges. I get to play tomorrow.” He smiled. “As starting Setter.”

“Fantastic!”

Tooru flopped into the seat next to him, said hi to Sugawara, and then settled back, propping his impossibly long legs onto the barrier. “So what were you talking about so intently just now?”

“Serves,” Hajime replied. “Sugawara-kun wants to improve hers.”

“Ah, practise, practise, practise,” Tooru replied, a shade condescendingly. “You should maybe speak to your brother.”

“Really?” She screwed her nose up. “I wanted something a bit more ... um ... powerful.”

“Your brother,” Tooru replied, sounding arch, “managed to target certain players with incredible efficiency. Cost us some points.”

“That’s true,” Hajime said. “You can think about that. Suga used to aim for the Ace, so putting them out of action. It’s a decent tactic.”

And then the person in question, jumped down to join them. “What is a decent tactic?” Suga asked.

“You, Kou-chan,” Tooru replied.

“Huh?”

“We’re discussing serves and the best ones to use. Your sister wants to be the Oikawa Tooru of Karasuno Girls,” Hajime said, and laughed.

“There are worse things to want,” Tooru snapped. Tired from the game. The buzz of playing now wearing off, Hajime could tell he needed fuel before his mood plummeted more.

“I think your jump serve is very cool,” Sugawara murmured with the same emollient quality in her voice that Hajime had heard her brother use. “And I’d love to be that much of an asset to my team.”

“It really is practise,” Tooru said, genuine now. “Refining the technique, and then letting loose. But ... um ... you might lack power, unless you develop muscles like Iwa-chan.”

“Jump float’s a good option. More skill required, though,” Suga added.

“Can you help me with that?” Her eyes had turned to Tooru, and Hajime stifled a bark of laughter.

“Oikawa-kun doesn’t do jump float,” Suga informed her. “Spent his time perfecting his other skills.”

“And got pissed off when the ball kept landing on his head, and he tripped over trying to get some spin on the ball in a practise match,” Hajime cried. “Jeez, how old were we? Thirteen? Fourteen? You got in strop when I laughed and didn’t talk to me for days!”

“Wow, was that why?” Tooru wasn’t glaring. “I must have blocked that from my memory.”

“You hated looking an idiot in front of your kouhais,” Hajime continued, conceding, “And, you did normally look pretty fricking cool back then.”

“I was always cool. It’s coming back to me now. You were so mean, Iwa-chan! I fell over and bruised my face and you would not stop laughing! And you told everyone I’d tripped over my laces.”

“You had! I’d told you they were undone and you didn’t listen!” Hajime snickered. “It’s why you’re so fricking fussy about it now.”

“Was I really doing a jump float that day?” Tooru said, more to himself than to Hajime and the others.

“Yeah ... you had to go off because your nose was bleeding. Came back on with wadding stuffed up each nostril. Very pretty.”

He touched his nose, as if he could still feel it. “I could have broken my nose, but you thought it was funny.”

“No it was your –”

“But I could still learn a jump serve,” Sugawara interrupted, glancing from one to the other, clearly not at all sure what was going on, but desperate to get the conversation back on track. “Would you show me, Oikawa-san?”

But Tooru had closed himself off, scowling at the memory of a long ago slight.

“Not right now,” Hajime whispered. “He’s tired and hungry from the game. Maybe over summer –”

Suga jumped in, the light in his eyes dancing. “If you’re extra nice to me, Chi-chan,  then I could ask Kageyama-kun for you. He’d do just about anything for his old senpai –”

“No, no, you’ll get completely the wrong technique,” Tooru retorted. “And Tobio-chan couldn’t teach a monkey to eat nuts. How long are you here for, Sugawara-chan?”

“The tenth.”

“Then, if your lazy assed brother can get out of bed before eight,  get him to bring you to the gym tomorrow, and I’ll go through the basics.”

“REALLY!” she shrieked and impulsively wrapped her arms round him, then shrieked again in horror at what she’d done. “Sorry, sorry, but thank you so much!”

“Not at all,” Tooru replied, and disengaging himself he got to his feet. “Right, I need some food before I drop. See you tomorrow, all right?”

 

“That was a really good thing you did there,” Hajime murmured as they walked away.

“Couldn’t have darling Tobio ...” Tooru grimaced. “Bloody Koushi. He totally manipulated me there, didn’t he?”

Laughing, Hajime took his hand. “Yeah, I think he did. C’mon let’s eat. I’ll even buy as you were so good today.”

It was as they walked off, not holding hands but letting their arms brush together, that the sun seemed to block from their view. A shadow fell over them, a shadow that had once been ominous.

Tooru recovered first. “Ushiwaka-chan” he began lightly. “How wonderful of you to drop by.”

“Oikawa.” Ushijima inclined his head, then hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “And Iwaizumi-san. I am surprised to see you here.”

“I came to Tokyo in April. I thought you knew,” Tooru replied.

A frown creased Ushijima’s brow. “I meant Iwaizumi. I understood he’d stayed in Miyagi.”

“Visiting,” Hajime interrupted, trying to quell the irritation. Had Ushiwaka meant to stress the ‘stayed’ or had he misheard him?

The silence became awkward, three players and former rivals unable to think of a connection between them that didn’t centre on volleyball and beating each other. Rivals from Middle School, and rivals now at University. Would it ever end?

And what if I end up going elsewhere? A triumvirate of rivalries, or would it simmer down. Do I stoke Oikawa’s fire, or keep it manageable?

“I should go. The team are  …” Ushijima waved vaguely towards the cafeteria.

“It’s been a delightful catch-up!” Tooru called after him. “Ow, Iwa-chan!”

Removing his foot from Tooru’s toes, Hajime tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t be an asshole. He was clearly making an effort.”

“I know. Incredible, right.” Tooru disentangled himself. “That exchange was almost human.”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, come on. He annoys you off, too.”

“Well, yeah, but …”

“But what.” Tooru smiled.

“Oh,. All right, he still pisses me off. That crap about me ‘staying’ in Miyagi. Was that deliberately to wind me up? He made it sound so fucking patronising and –” Seeing Tooru smile, he stopped himself from ranting, inhaling deeply, then laughed ruefully. “Am I overreacting?”

“A bit. I don’t think he meant anything by it,” Tooru replied, then his eyes widened. “Wow, I’m defending Ushiwaka-chan.”

“A red letter day,” Hajime teased. He took Tooru’s hand in his. “He’s less … uh … intimidating now, don’t you think?”

“He can be beaten,” Tooru agreed. “I do wish we’d done it though.”

His stomach gave a loud rumble, and Hajime chuckled. “Come on, let’s get you some food, and we can plot Ushiwaka-chan’s downfall. Take Two!”

 

Over noodles, they discussed the game, and Tooru’s mood considerably brightened as his blood sugar levels returned to normal. He started to laugh over the memories of his poor attempts at jump float serves, but there was wistfulness in his eyes, as if he’d missed out on something, too.”

“It’s not too late to learn them now,” Hajime pointed out. “Add to your repertoire.”

“Will your friend teach me? Kinoshita-kun?”

“Don’t you like working these things out yourself?”

“True.” He leant back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “You have some good friends, Iwa-chan. I’ve noticed how at ease you are with them.”

“You do too,” Hajime muttered. He sniffed, and tried to ward off the tears stoppered behind his eyes. “Uh … I met Konoha.”

“Oh…” Tooru stared at him. “What did you think?”

“He … he seems like a good bloke,” Hajime admitted.

“You don’t have to sound quite so grudging. He’s fun,” Tooru said, and pouted his lips into a kiss. “But that’s all. He’s a friend, and I have a few now. Just as you do.”

Hajime sniffed as he took in the truth of the statement.  Friends made separately hadn’t happened for years, for over a decade, he thought, unless he counted Hani (and Hajime hadn’t counted her, as they’d never got on.) And maybe that was where the problems lay, with them not being without each other in any way at all.

“Mattsun reckons we were too insular at school. Us four, I mean,” he said at last.

“He’s right,” Tooru replied. “I do think one of the best things about coming here has been meeting other people, finding another team, and working out how they click. How I fit. It’s ... exciting.”

Hajime swallowed, but the words he knew he had to say would not be suppressed. “Sab was talking to me recently about how he’s liked going to volleyball by himself. Not as a twin, as one part of a pair, but as Iwaizumi Saburo, and I understood that, even though I’m not a twin because I’ve always ... we’ve always.” Clearing his throat he continued, “So, was it a good thing, in the end, that I wasn’t here with you? We’ve kind of found –”

“Ourselves,” Tooru completed. “Found our own place.”

Nodding, Hajime busied himself with twirling some noodles around his chopsticks. “I did miss you, you know. Like, I tried not to think about you, tried to concentrate on other things, but you were always in my head. And although I hated it at times, because fuck that Oikawa-in-my-head doesn’t shut up, it was also a comfort, you know. It felt as if, even though we were apart, we weren’t really. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense. I kept hearing you cursing me.”

“And I have a problem,” Hajime said.

“What?”

“ _If_ I join the volleyball team, and I don’t get the offer of a scholarship, and I fuck up again –”

“You hardly ‘fucked’ up!”

“If I fuck up again,” Hajime repeated firmly, “then I need a back-up plan because I didn’t last time.”

“Go on.”

“I’ll have to look at other options, Tooru. Yeah, I want to be here with you, and fuck knows I want to play again. I can’t give it up... not yet... so I’m going to look at other colleges. I need you to know that.”

“Of course you have to. Being here and finding new friends has been amazing, the best part of college and I’d hate to deny you that experience.”

Tooru cast a look across the table from under his long lashes, and ran his ankle up Hajime’s shin. “I’d hate to deny you anything, Hajime.”

“Don’t joke,” he said, his voice hitching.

“I’m deadly serious.” He removed his foot and continued to eat. “You have to do what is right for you, and I have to do what is right for me. And we’ll make this work, Iwa-chan, wherever you end up, or whatever you decide to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more chapters 
> 
> SHRIEK!
> 
> Thank you as ever for reading, kudosing and leaving comments. This has been a bit of a slow burn (not least from the writing side as it took me forever to start let alone finish) and all your kind thoughts have really kept me going.


	45. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Miyagi, Tooru is given a warm welcome in the Iwaizumi household, but is taken aback by his mother's plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! A character is quite sick in this so if you have emetophobia, then I apologise - it's near the end.

“Hello, I’m home!” Hajime opened the front door, bag over his shoulder and listened for any sound of habitation.

“Iwa-chan, I thought you said they weren’t going away.”

“They’re not. Dad said he was going to work on the decorating instead.” He stepped into the hallway, pulling Tooru with him. “HELLLOOO, ANYONE HOME!”

Tooru followed, taking in the new home that felt a little familiar, too. There were Koji’s trainers in the shoe rack, and Saburo’s favourite baseball cap hanging on a coat hook. A picture of cherry trees, which had been in the Iwaizumis’ lounge, was hanging in the hallway. But there was a new vase with fresh flowers on a table and the lampshade over the hall light was not one he remembered.

“Can’t believe no one’s here!” Hajime stormed. “I told them when we’d be back.”

Something chimed in Tooru’s ear, a sound so slight he thought at first he might have imagined it, but just in case he decided to play along. He raised his voice. “In that case, I really should go, Iwa-chan. I’ll go home and maybe we can meet up tomorrow.” He crept a little closer, then called out, “BYE!”

“NOOOOOO!”  Koji and Saburo burst through the kitchen door. “TOORU-NII, DON’T GO!”

“Koji-chan, Saburo-chan, you have grown!” he cried, and grabbing their hands he twirled with them.  “You’ll be taller than your brother before the end of the year. Not that that’s at all difficult!”

“OI!” Hajime rolled his eyes, and scowled but there was no anger in his expression. “You missed me then!”

“We haven’t seen Tooru-nii for months!” Saburo said.

“YEARS!” Koji added. He pulled on Tooru’s hand, then grabbed Hajime’s. “Come and see the kitchen!”

“Um, why?”

“Because, we’ve been waiting for you,” Iwaizumi-san explained, appearing in the kitchen door. She held out her arms. “It’s lovely to see you again, Tooru. Come here.”

“Jeez, what am I? Invisible?” Hajime mocked, and cuffed both the twins on their ears. “Guess who’s not getting the presents I bought then?”

“PRESENTS!”

“Yup, from Tokyo. Let me check my bag.”

“How are you, Tooru?” Iwaizumi-san murmured.

“I’m good.” He smiled down at her, taking in the bloom in her cheeks. Her hair was a little longer, but she was wearing it loose and not tied up as she usually did, and he was reminded sharply of how she’d looked the first time he’d met her when she’d been pregnant with the twins and suffering in the heat.  “You’re looking very well, Iwa-chan-obasan.”

She laughed at the old nickname and hugged him again. “I’m so pleased you’re friends again. He’s missed you. We all have.”

“I couldn’t miss the Iwa-chan-chans’ birthday, now, could I?”

“No, you couldn’t!” Koji yelped, and beamed up him. He was holding the chocolate and the Tokyo tee shirts, Iwa-chan had bought the pair of them, and another parcel, still wrapped. “Who’s this for?”

“The new baby,” Iwa-chan said, and tried to snatch it back.

“It’s soft. What is it?”

“Not for you!” he grinned at his mum. “Sorry, saw something and couldn’t resist it.”

“That’s lovely. Right, come and sit down. I’ve made tea, and you’re very welcome to stay Tooru, although if you want to get back to your mother, then obviously we understand.” She frowned at the twins, mirroring their expressions. “Don’t we, Chibis!”

“Guess so,” Saburo sulked.

“But we made cupcakes!” Koji implored. “And decorated them!”

“Then I will have to stay for at least one,” Tooru assured him.

“Where’s Dad?” Hajime asked.

“Picking up paint. He’s painted the baby’s room, and we’re going to make a start on the kitchen. Which is why I’m so pleased you’re back because I really need someone to take these two terrors off my hands.”

“Tooru-nii can teach me how to toss now.”

“I can try, Koji-chan, but I do have to go back to Tokyo soon.”

“Why?”

“College things, but I’ll be back again before your birthday, and maybe as your brother will be busy, then you can come along with me and Take-chan.”

“Tooru,” Hajime’s mum protested, “You really don’t have to.”

“I know,” he replied, “but I’d like to.” Accepting a cup of tea, he glanced around the kitchen. It was tidy and clean, but a little shabby. There was a board pinned with appointment reminders, school reports, postcards and photographs. One stuck out, and he stretched over to get a closer look. “Iwa-chan, how handsome you look in your new uniform.”

“Ugh, don’t. That fu- awful gakuran.”

He perused the picture, lifting it from the board and waited for the expected wave of jealousy to curdle inside. But there was nothing there, and he could smile. Iwa-chan in the picture glared back at him, and Tooru could see he’d been itching to rip open the top button.

“I think you suit black. Goes with your dark, dark moods and filthy language,” he teased, and winked at Hajime’s Mum.

Hajime threw a cake case at him. “Shut up!”

His mother laughed, her hand across her belly. “Oh, Tooru, we have missed you. Welcome home!”

***

Mindful of his parents, Tooru excused himself thirty minutes later. It was a wrench to say goodbye, having not even seen over their new home, but he promised to return the next day. Hajime saw him out to his car, giving him a bear hug and a whack on the back, before letting his mouth drift to Tooru’s cheek. “You gonna be all right?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes, of course.”

“Let me know how it goes, yeah?”

He risked clutching Hajime’s fingers. “Look, whatever my Mum knows or thinks she knows, it won’t affect us.”

“Are you going to bring it up?”

He shook his head, and saw with a pang the relief in Hajime’s eyes. But having seen the twins and Hajime’s mum, he didn’t want to upset the applecart either. Not yet.

In Tokyo, he’d breezed with confidence, believing he’d convinced his Mum that Iwa-chan had really left, but subsequent phone calls and her harping on whether he was alone (‘No, Bokuto’s here’) had fretted at his nerves. He’d hidden it from Hajime, but as he drove back home, a sense of doom loomed over him.

And it wasn’t that he was ashamed. Just that he knew – had probably always known – that this was not going to be easy for them. That and until Tokyo, he’d always had this thought at the back of his head that these past few months had been Iwa-chan’s way of letting him down gently, of extricating himself from a relationship he hadn’t really wanted to be a part of.

Tokyo had changed things. For two wonderful weeks, they’d lived in a bubble, one that hadn’t burst with Bokuto’s presence, and dared to dream.

His Mum loved him, and he thought his dad probably did too, in his own, strange and utterly selfish way, but he wasn’t sure he could take that loss of shine in his mother’s eyes.

He drew up to the house, turned into the driveway. Despite his misgivings, his heart gave a little flip at seeing his home. The front garden looked immaculate, a riot of summer colour, and as he opened the car door, the scent of fresh mown grass hit him. Pure air, heady after the fumes of Tokyo.

She was waiting by the window, a sudden and immediate smile on her face, her hand raised in welcome, opening the door before he’d had a chance to unearth his bag.

“Tooru.” She smiled and held out her arms, enveloping him in a hug. She smelled of roses – of course - her scent all at once heartwarming and jarring as he thought of Gashuko-san. He was catapulted back to her birthdays and his Dad presenting her with a bottle of perfume, which she always decanted into a cut glass atomiser to spray on her wrists. “Happy _belated_ birthday.”

There was a reproof in her voice, but he ignored it, not apologising for missing the actual day here because how could he sound sincere when his nineteenth birthday had been the best it could have been.

“Garden is looking beautiful,” he said instead, knowing that would please her. “You must have been working very hard.”

“Not work,” she chides. “ _Not_ if you enjoy it. And you should see the back. I have a lot of things that I need to finish, but I’m in the process of a redesign.”

“Hmm?”

“I had to keep busy without you here, darling,” she said and releasing him, she tucked her arm in his. “Now, you must be hungry.”

“Not really,” he said truthfully because he’d _had_ to have two cakes – one Koji had decorated and one of Saburo’s. “I had a snack on the way.”

“Tea, then, or a glass of lemonade?”

“Water’s good,” he replied, and wandered though the hallway, noting how little had changed (but did it feel somehow smaller?) and into the lounge, approaching the French windows. “Show me what you’ve got planned for the gar –”

There was a digger on the lawn. Not at the sides excavating for flowerbeds, but in the centre. Slap bang in the middle of the grass.

“What’s this?” he muttered.

“Water garden, darling,” she said and handed him a tall glass of water, sparkling and with clear ice cubes chinking against the sides. “A pond at the back, a series of rock steps and some beautiful plants. Koi carp, too and lilies once it’s finished.”

“But the lawn?”

“We still have half of it, although I might get some decking, or perhaps change the grass to camomile.”

“We used to run races,” he said faintly. “And practise volleyball. Iwa-chan caught butterflies here. And stag beetles and – ” He swallowed. “Isn’t Takeru upset?”

“He’ll like exploring the water. He can paddle in some of the shallower pools, and your father has told him he’ll build a tree house for him.”

“ _Dad_ will?”

“He looks on it as a project.” She tinkled a laugh. “I think he’s excited by it.”

“Good for him.”

He turned on his heel, no longer wanting to view the garden that was stunted beyond what he could have imagined.

“And I’m going to have more roses on the right,” she was saying. “Tooru, I thought you wanted to sit outside.”

“No.” He gulped down some water, wishing she’d poured him still rather than the fizz she preferred. “I’ll go and unpack.”

“Tooru. There’s plenty of time. Come and sit for a while.”

“I’ve been sitting all day,” he said. “Where is Dad, by the way?”

“I’m here.” He appeared at the doorway, wiping his spectacles on his sleeve.  “I was on a conference call in the study. Good journey, Tooru?” his dad asked.

“Decent enough.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, not able to meet his Dad’s eyes.

_Conference call? Really?_

“Your mother’s been showing you garden, has she?” Smiling at his wife, he laid a hand on Tooru’s shoulder. “Unfortunately her plans don’t involve a full size volleyball court.”

“I didn’t expect them to.”

_The lawn. Our summers._

“She’s excited about it, Tooru,” his father whispered. “If you can’t show active enthusiasm, then at least pretend you’re happy for her.”

He blinked, then cleared his throat.  “And you’re building a tree house for Takeru. That sounds ... uh ... fun.”

“I suspect when I’ve banged my thumb a few times with the hammer, and sawn through too many branches instead of planks, then I’ll be regretting it, but, well, I’d like to give it a try,” he replied, the picture of a doting father and grandfather.

The hypocrisy stung.

“Takeru’s very lucky,” Tooru said. “I remember building a den with Iwa-chan out at the back, and we slung a rope over a branch and used to swing on that. Never got a tree house though.”

“Did actually you want one?” his dad asked, his voice low. “I find it hard to believe your mother would have denied you.”

“Probably not. Sorry. ” He sniffed. “Mum, I’ll dump my bag, and then you can talk to me about your plans.”

 He took his time in his bedroom, dwelled in the bathroom longer than was necessary, splashing his face with water.

 ** _[How are things?]_** flashed the message on his screen.

He could picture Iwa-chan’s face, worry marring his expression, nails bitten to the quick.

**[Fine. Mum’s digging up the lawn, though.]**

**_[Nooooooo.]_ **

**[She’s building a water garden!!!!]**

Then another beep.

**_[At least saves you from getting another pasting from me, Assikawa.]_ **

**[RUDE! And a bloody koi carp pond. ]**

**_[Maybe we can take up fishing at last.]_ **

He dried his face, and smiled as he tucked his phone away. Iwa-chan always had the ability to make things a little better.

***

“So,” his dad began jovially when they ate dinner, “what are your plans while you’re here, Tooru? Your mother tells me you’re going back to Tokyo soon. More volleyball?”

“A week of lectures.”

“During the holidays?”

“Yes,” he replied, rattled at what appeared to be disbelief in his Dad’s voice. “I can show you the schedule if you’d like.”

“And your friends here,” his dad asked, waving away the belligerence. “Are you planning on seeing them?”

“Makki is working in a restaurant in Sendai over summer, so I’ll have to catch him on his days off. Mattsun’s working, but at least he’s local, so we’ll see. And Iwa-chan has a placement for two weeks, so I’ll have to go out with him this week.”

“Tooru, you’ve only just returned home,” his mum protested. “And you’re already making plans.”

“Kiyo, the boy’s young. Of course he wants to see his friends!”

“I have things I wanted us to do,” she retorted, raising her voice. “All of us. Takeru will be disappointed.”

Put like that, there was very little he could do without sounding like a petulant child.

 _Growing up sucks,_ he thought sourly as he nodded a bland agreement.

 

***

“So, let me get this straight. You’re back together but not seeing each other even though Oikawa’s in Miyagi.”

Mattsun supped his coke, cooling his forehead on the ice-cold can. It had been a tiring session with the Neighbourhood team, and Hajime’s heart rate wasn’t quite back to normal as they sat outside lapping up the evening warmth.

“He’s got family shit going on. And I do have to at least make an attempt to study during the day.” He opened his can, hearing a satisfying hiss and took a glug.

“But things are good, right?”

“Uh-huh. And you?”

“Yup.” Mattsun’s eyes were closed, face not giving anything away.

“Don’t be so fricking enigmatic. What gives between you and Makki?”

A lazy smile flickered across his face. “I’m not thinking about it. We’re having fun.”

“But the road trip? And his placement? What happened to your Summer plans?”

With the sigh of someone who knew he’d have to give an answer, Mattsun straightened up. “I’m working instead, save the money I was going to spend and then ... who knows where I’ll end up.”

He looked remarkably chilled, even for Mattsun, but there was a crinkling around his eyes and a bubble of excitement twitching at his lips.

“Somewhere a tall former Wing Spiker wannabee chef has a placement, perhaps?” Hajime guessed.

“You never know.” He resumed drinking, stopping only to say, “I’m glad things are cool between you and Oikawa. Hated seeing you guys fight.”

“You always used to think it was funny!”

“Because I knew you’d always make up. It was like your form of communication at times, but this was different. This felt more deliberate.”

Hajime sighed. “You were right. It was.”

“And that’s solved now?”

“Between us, yeah. But ... uh ... I’m not sure about other people.”

“What have I told you about other people, Iwaizumi?” Mattsun drawled, rolling his eyes. “They’re shit!”

“Yup, they are.”

On his phone, Tooru had left a message.   **[Dad is coming to Tokyo with me, so I can’t make it round to yours to say goodbye. See you in a week. Much love xxxxxxxxx]**

So many kisses, but not enough.  It had been less than a week since that last fleeting kiss outside Hajime’s home, but he yearned for more. _I have to make it Tokyo. Why the fuck am I thinking about volleyball again?”_

 

Hajime wasn’t sure what he’d thought the Miyagi Herald’s offices would look like, but it hadn’t been this. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he’d pictured seedy smoke filled offices, crusty old journalists stubbing out cigarette after cigarette and yelling as they typed with two fingers on old-fashioned typewriters, and not a bright new office staffed with a mix of men and women, with a range of ages, and not a cigarette in sight.

“You’re Iwaizumi, right!” a man barked at him. He was in his thirties, Iwaizumi guessed, black hair with a few odd strands of grey. Probably not the Editor, who’d be unlikely to welcome a work experience kid. More like a sub editor, or maybe a journalist he’d been assigned to.

(That sounded cool.)

“Yes.” He felt like standing to attention.

“Ishigawa. I’m the Editor of the Herald. I will show you round. Listen, take notes if you want, and then I’ll hand you over to someone else. Law?”

“Huh?”

“You’re interested in the Law.”

Ishigawa started to walk, and Hajime had to skip to keep up.

“Um, yes, it’s what I plan to do at college.”

“Fine. We have a crime desk, so you can work with them, but ...” He shrugged. “Not a lot happens, so you’ll be bored out your skull. Anything else?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you like anything else?”

“Um, volleyball ... sport ... movies?”

“Sport, good. Everyone likes sport. Hold on.” He stopped speaking and flipped through the buff file in his hands. “You wrote reports for your school paper, right?”

“Um, yes.”

“Over emotional thought pieces, but decent enough style,” Ishigawa decided. “My old sensei hasn’t steered me wrong.”

“Your old sensei?”

“Abukara-sama. He taught me at Karasuno. Said I’d go far.” He grimaced. “I’ve not made it out of Miyagi, but there’s hope yet.”

 

**[How is it?]**

**_[Hard work. Jeez, I thought practise was tough. This working malarkey is seriously tiring.]_ **

**[what are you doing?]**

**_[First day I was looking at old crime reports. Yesterday it was the local news desk. They’re the busiest department. Today I went out with a journalist and she reported on a local government meeting.]_ **

**[Sounds fun ; >]**

**_[It was okay, actually. She was stressing the importance of letting people know what’s going on. And if they won’t turn up to public meetings, then reading about it is the only way they’ll find out what’s happening.]_ **

**[I am suitably chastened, Iwa-chan. What about tomorrow?]**

**_[Staying with local news, but the day after I get to see the sports desk :D :D]_ **

**[OOOOOH! Will you be writing anything? Send me a copy if you do!]**

**_[Doubt it. But I’ll let you know.  How’s Tokyo?]_ **

**[Lectures are good, so I’m pleased I made the effort. Dad’s being annoying.]**

**_[Why?]_ **

**[He keeps wanting us to do things together. It’s rather disconcerting having a parent around all the time.]**

**_[Oh dear]_ **

**[Tomorrow I’m meeting up with Kuroo and Bokuto. We’re going to see a movie.]**

**_[That’s fun then.]_ **

  **[Have you spoken to Ukai-san yet? Or Ennoshita?]**

**_[No]_ **

**[Iwa-chan! Why not?]**

**_[Still thinking]_ **

**[What about?]**

Hajime turned over in his bed. The image of Tooru in Tokyo, holed up in his room and asking these questions, chastising him for not making the move, caused a lump to form in his throat.

**_[I don’t want to fuck up my results again. And don’t say I won’t because I did last time, and I realised I want to be in Tokyo with you.]_ **

**[Iwa-chan.]**

**_[What?]_ **

**[I love you]**

**_[Love you, too]_** It was ridiculously easy saying this now he’d said it once.

**[But you want to play. And you should, or you’ll regret it.]**

He took an age to reply, an age where perhaps Tooru had already put down his phone, turned off the light and fallen asleep. But somehow he knew Tooru was waiting for his text.

**_[I’ll regret it more if I’m not in Tokyo with you.]_ **

The answer came back immediately, as if he’d already typed most of it before he’d seen the message.

**[As I said to you a few months ago. There are other courses. There are other colleges. Some are in Tokyo, and others are not. We can travel, Hajime. Things will work out.]**

**_[They always do.]_ **

***

“So, what is the plan for today, number one son,” Hajime’s dad asked. “Thought you’d be having a lie in as you’re not going into the office.”

He swallowed down his coffee and picked up a banana. “Nope. I’m going for a jog, then back here to type something up for Abukara-san, and then maybe head down to Little Tykes.

“With us?” Saburo demanded.

“Who else would I take!” he teased.

“With Tooru-nii?” Koji qualified. “Is he back from Tokyo?”

“Yup. I’ll see what he says.”  A car tooted its horn. “That’s him. We’re going to the beach. Catch you later!”

He was grinning until he saw Tooru was not alone, a sigh on his lips as soon as Hajime approached.

“Uh ... Hi, Take-chan,” Hajime said.

“You didn’t get my text then?” Tooru replied, getting out of the car. He mouthed a ‘sorry’.

“Not seen anything. What’s up?”

“I’m on Takeru duty today, apparently,” Tooru said, ultra-sweetly. “So I don’t mind if you want to cancel, but I did think maybe as I’ve been allowed Mum’s car, then if you want to bring the Chibis, too, we could spend the day together.”

“I have some work to do.”

“You could do it at mine. How about we have a run at the beach, then back to mine? You can do your work and I’ll amuse them all in the garden before it gets concreted over,” he said moodily.

_Could work._

“I’ll ask. Hold up.”

He strode back, yelling for the twins. “Want to come with us now?”

“Where to?”

“Beach then Oikawa’s.”

“And volleyball?”

“He’s got Takeru with him, so I expect so,” Hajime replied and poked his head round the kitchen door, and grinned at his dad. “I’m grabbing my laptop. We might even stay out of your way all day.”

“Take some money,” he replied, handing over a wad of yen. “Should cover you for drinks, lunch and volleyball.”

“Thanks!”

 

The air was good, the breeze from the sea keeping the temperature at bay, and with the sand underfoot they could both sprint together. Tooru’s hair was streaming from his face, and there was a blush to his cheeks as the salt in the atmosphere stung them.  Further up the beach, Koji and Saburo were showing Takeru rock pools, one net between three of them, they searched for crabs and seaweed.

Hajime slowed as they reached the rocks, coming to a halt instead of clambering over them.

“Sorry,” Tooru said for what seemed the twentieth time.

“It’s not your fault. What happened?”

“Mum remembered she had a hair appointment and was having lunch with Dad. She’d already promised Neesan, who’s seeing a client today, so she could hardly say no.”

“Ah, right,” Hajime leant against the rock, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Tooru stroked Hajime’s hand. “Perhaps next time I won’t tell her I have plans with you,” he murmured. “I swear she arranged it all very last minute.”

“She’s not said anything, though?”

He shook his head. “But whenever the conversation turns to you, she manages to change it. And Dad didn’t have to be in Tokyo, not for work. No idea what she said to him, but he’s become convinced we need bonding time.”

“Oh dear.”

He rolled his eyes. “Exactly.” Tooru drank some water, passing the bottle to Hajime. “Neesan thinks I’m too harsh on him. She says he’s a very good granddad.”

“Maybe he is. He’s older now.”

“I wasn’t imagining it, was I? He was shit! Or was I really such an objectionable child?”

“Jury’s out,” Hajime said and smirked, then clapped him on the back. “He wasn’t around for you, but maybe that’s what’s changed. He has _time_.”

“He could have made time before, but he preferred screwing his mistress!”

“You weren’t exactly a neglected kid, Oikawa,” Hajime huffed. “You always had your mum, and sister and –”

“You, I always had you. And the Chibis.” He laughed, and it caught on the breeze whipping the sound towards the three now racing down the sand towards them. “And your Mum and Dad. They were wonderful. Still are!”

“Maybe your Dad’s trying to make it up to you now?” Hajime replied. “Could be he thinks it’ll be easier now you know about his ... er ...”

“Mistress. Maybe. I feel guilty, though. I don’t want to like him, Iwa-chan. And I don’t. I hate what he’s done, but ...” He clutched Hajime’s hand, tilted his head back and gulped at the air. “I remember being in England and he was funny, you know. We’d sit and watch movies together, and he built me castles out of Lego and spaceships out of cardboard and –”

“You’re allowed to love him. He’s your Dad. But you don’t have to like him. And if you want to hate him then do.”

“But?”

“Hate’s corrosive. Bitterness, too – believe me. I know you like a nemesis, Tooru, but sometimes I think you have to let go.”

Saburo was charging towards them, Koji not quite able to catch him, with Takeru last, his limbs flailing as he cried out for his uncle. Jolting back to the present, Tooru ran and scooped him up in his arms, and sprinted to the finishing line.

“I lost!” Takeru sobbed. “I’m not fast.”

“They’re older,” Tooru told him. “And sometimes Take-chan, you have to suck it up that someone is better than you.”

“Who’s better than you?” Takeru asked, disbelief in his voice.

“Iwa-chan is. He’s as fast as the wind.”

 

 

At Oikawa’s house, Hajime settled at the kitchen table and started his report for Abukara regarding his placement. Ishigawa had been right – the crime desk had been dull, the main problem being that very little happened in Miyagi, but Hajime had enjoyed shadowing the journalists, had liked watching as they hammered out articles, quickly, and with very little time to polish. He’d loved the efficiency of the older guys and the enthusiasm of the younger ones, all intent on getting the job done. He’d assisted with online articles, helped pick photographs, and even proofread a few articles. Ishigawa-san had been generous with both his time and of those working under him. Hajime had seen a hunger amongst the staff, even at a local low-level newspaper, and he’d identified with it.

“It’s not like the old days,” a seasoned hack had warned him.

They’d been outside, walking across the car park and the man had immediately reached for his cigarettes, lighting one before he’d reached his car.

“There’s no working your way up,” he’d complained. “None of this leaving school at fifteen and working in the presses first.”

“Did you do that?” Hajime had asked, doubt in his voice because Masawaki couldn’t have been older than fifty.

He’s given an irascible grin in reply. “You’re sharp. Nope, I left school at eighteen and got a job as a clerk. Did a lot of filing and worked on the first computer system when it came in. That was a breakthrough – computers instead of printing presses – but didn’t think it would end up like it is now.”

“Which is what?”

“Older people still like an actual paper, right?”

Hajime’d nodded.

“But –” Masawaki took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke plume around him. “Younger people only want the free articles. And journalists want to be paid. It’s hard work.”

“But you still do it.”

“I still like it. And I’m good at it. Come on, Iwaizumi-kun, let’s get to this soccer match. Take notes, and we’ll see what we can cobble together.”

His byline had appeared under the report – shared obviously – but Hajime had stared, and stared and stared, taking screencap after screencap, then buying an actual paper for his parents (who’d rushed out to buy more to send to his grandparents).

“Iwa-chan.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he replied and picked up his water. “How are they?”

“Exhausting!” Tooru flopped on the seat, over dramatically and theatrically wiped his brow. “Takeru is feeling very hot now, so I’ve told them to sit down while I fetch drinks. They want to go to Little Tykes.”

“Thought they might. I’ll be finished with this soon, so we could go then.”

“I’ll take some snacks, too,” Tooru said, getting up and pulling open the fridge door. “Takeru doesn’t want to admit it, but I think he’s suffering from trying to keep up.”

“Why don’t you bring them inside, get them to play games or something?”

“Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I’m nearly done. It’s fine.” He looked up from his screen. “Thanks.”

“Going well, then?”

“Yup.”

“I can tell. You look ... you look a little like you used to before a game. Excited.”

 He left, taking with him a carton of juice, four glasses, bananas and some crisps. Hajime heard them all trooping back into the house, and soon the familiar sounds of shots and crashes as a game fired up filtered through to the kitchen. As Saburo whooped and Koji yelled, he got up, hollering at them to let Takeru have a go.

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s reply wafted back. “Takeru’s a little tired and is having a lie – OH MY GOD!”

“What?”

“Take-chan, what ... stop ... NOOOOO!  Chibis, get out the way. Move! Get me a bucket or -”

“OIKAWA!”

“IWA-CHAN, help!”

He sprinted from the kitchen, crashing into the lounge to see Tooru holding Takeru over the hurriedly emptied crisp bowl, while Takeru retched. The room was a mess. Not only had Takeru projectile vomited over the floor, but in the haste for a receptacle, someone had thrown the crisps out, half of them landing on the sofa.

“Jeez!”

“He’s been sick!”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Help, what do I do?”

Takeru turned his face to his uncle, tried to wail a ‘sorry’, then puked again, only missing Tooru by millimetres.

“UGHHH!” He tried hard not to flinch, but his instinct kicked in and Tooru fled the lounge for the downstairs toilet.

“I’m sorry,” Takeru wailed.

“Yep, yep, okay, It’s all right,” Hajime soothed. He stepped closer. “Koji, Sab, see if you can find some kitchen towel or something.”

“Smells rank!” Saburo exclaimed.

“Yeah, and he can’t help it,” Hajime scolded. “He’s not well.”

“My tummy hurts.”

“Okay, come on.” Bending down, Hajime picked Takeru up, holding him close, and strode upstairs for the main bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I still feel –” He retched again.

“Okay, lean over the toilet. Stay there. I’ll get you some water.” He charged down the stairs. “OIKAWA!”

“Yes.” He emerged from the toilet. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. He’s still being sick. Has he got any other clothes?  His tee shirt is ... _horrible._ ”

“I’ll find him something. I better call Neesan.”

“Yeah, might be an idea.” He filled a glass with water, set off back to the bathroom, then backtracked. “Koji, Sab, can one of you call Mum? We probably shouldn’t stay if Takeru’s ill.”

Takeru looked green and woebegone. His normally chirpy expression had been replaced with a downturned mouth, and one hand clutched round his stomach. He stared up at Hajime.

“Hey, how are you doing?”

“Sick and I can’t make the flush work.”

“That’s all right. I’ll do it. Let’s get that shirt off and see if we can clean you up.”

He nodded obediently, lifting his arms so Hajime could pull off his tee, then padded to the sink. Hajime wiped his face with a sponge, filled the bowel with water and handed him some soap. “Wash your hands and face, then swill your mouth out. Do you have a toothbrush here?”

He nodded, and pointed to a green one in a tooth mug.

“’K, well when you’re feeling a bit better, then clean your teeth, all right?” Hajime picked up a towel, wrapping it around Takeru and ruffled his hair. “You look a bit better all ready.”

“Iwa-chan!”

Hajime pulled a face, and grinned at Takeru. “Your uncle needs me. If you feel sick again, try and make it to the toilet, okay?”

 

“I found this shirt. It’s an old one of mine.” He chewed his lip. “Downstairs is a mess. Mum will have a fit!”

“It’s not exactly your fault if he’s ill. Have you got hold of your sister yet?”

He shook his head. “Her phone’s off. I think your Mum is on her way.”

“Okay, she’ll know what to do about Takeru. Maybe ... um ... get hold of your Mum?”

“Can you help downstairs?”

“Yeah, sure.” He laughed a little. “You really can’t cope with this, can you?”

“Blood fine, shit fine, puke –” He shuddered. “Thank you for being here.”

“Iwa-chan-san,” Takeru’s pitiful moans floated towards them. “I feel bad again.”

“On my way!”

He’d half missed the toilet bowl, but at last the desperate retching of earlier was in abeyance. Slumped against the bath, Takeru sipped his water while Hajime mopped up what he could. He glanced at Takeru, relieved to see the roses returning to his cheeks, although he was still quite pale.

“C’n I clean my teeth now?”

“Yeah, why not. And we found you a shirt.”

“I like the towel. It’s soft and snugly.”

“’K, that’s fine.”

Downstairs the twins had done their best, blotting the worst of the mess with kitchen towel, their faces screwed up.  Saburo was scooping the crisps into the bin, while Koji was brushing the crumbs from the sofa onto the floor.

“Good boys. Look, go and wash your hands. I’ll take over.”

“I think I can help now,” Tooru muttered, from the door. “What do we need?

“Bucket of water, maybe? You got a mop?  Or some cloths. Rubbish bag, too.”

“Sure.” Tooru turned away displaying a small patch of sick on the back of his shirt.

“You might want to change your top,” Hajime said. “It’s ... uh ...”

“Mmhghh” Holding his breath, Tooru eased off the shirt, held it far away from him, and walked to the laundry room.

The doorbell rang, Hajime ran over to answer, saw his Mum and could not stop the note of hysteria, that had been threatening to surface since this kicked off, from reaching his voice.

“What’s happened?”

“Takeru puked everywhere. I think he’s all right now. Twins are fine. Oikawa’s ... uh ... not handling this well.”

“Where?”

“Lounge.”

“Rug or floor?”

“Both.”

She got straight to the point, calling out, “Tooru, fetch a bucket of hot water.”

“I’m on it.” He bowled out of the kitchen, a bucket in one hand and several cloths in another.

“I’ll check on Takeru,” she said, and started up the stairs. “Hajime, see if there’s some carpet cleaner or bicarbonate of soda.”

“Huh?”

“It gets rid of the smell.  Oh, and you’re covered in sick, so take that shirt off.”

“Your mother is an angel,” Tooru whispered, and touched him on the shoulder. “I never want to hear you complain about her again.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Tugging at his tee, he pulled it off over his head. “You got a spare I can borrow.”

“Mmm, upstairs,” Tooru said and took his hand.

He heard the click of the door, but it didn’t compute, and if he had, he still wasn’t sure he’d have whipped his hand away in time because it was a simple exchange of shirts, and nothing more. Except ...

Tooru’s parents stood on doorstep; his dad glanced up. “Hajime-kun, how good to see you again,” he said, not in the least perplexed at the sight in front of him.

But it was the spitting fury of his mother who launched herself towards them, pulling them apart, that set the air vibrating. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” she screamed at Hajime. Lashing out with her hand, her nails caught his cheek. “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”

 


	46. Talons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were in the kitchen, almost civilised with cups of tea in porcelain. Tooru’s Dad was attempting small talk, but no one was replying beyond a mutter.
> 
> Showtime indeed, Tooru thought, and straightened his back. Captain’s here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I left you on the most hideous of cliffs. The sh1t has truly hit the fan and ... 
> 
> Well, you'll see.

Hajime staggered back, too shocked to yell, to protest to protect himself as Tooru’s mother flailed at him.

“What are you doing?” Tooru shouted as he whipped round to face her

“Tooru-nii!” came a plaintive yell.

“Takeru’s here!” his mum exploded and lashed out again at Hajime. “You ... both of you and there’s a _CHILD_ HERE!”

“Kiyo!” Tooru’s dad stretched across, yanking her away and back to his side. “Stop this. What is going on?”

“You don’t - I didn’t say - I _couldn’t_ say but –” Incoherent, she spluttered, her face blotched and creased into fury.

“Yes, you do need to say.” Hajime’s mother trod down the stairs, her dress strained across her stomach, Takeru’s dirty shirt in the other and an icy bite to her words. “Why are you attacking my son?”

Shrinking  back into her husband’s arms, his mum’s eyes glassy, she rasped, “Why are _you_ here, Ayame?”

“Your grandson is ill,” she replied stonily. “I was helping _your_ son and mine clear up the mess.”

“Ill?”

“I was sick,” Takeru said padding down the stairs, still wrapped in the towel. “Iwa-chan-san looked after me. Why are you shouting?”

With what appeared to be a superhuman effort, Tooru watched as his mother breathed in a wracking breath, fixed a smile on her face, and crouched down to her grandson. “Shall we give you a bath?”

“Does my son get an apology?”

“Mum, it’s okay,” Hajime muttered.

“No, it’s not.”

The twin streaks of stubbornness  and fire in Hajime, his mother owned in spades.

“And an explanation wouldn’t go amiss,” she continued, and glanced at Tooru’s dad. “Masuru, perhaps you can tell me what’s going on?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps we should just forget what’s happened. Takeru’s ill, nerves get frayed. Maybe things are misunderstood. I ... Kiyo?” He gave up, staring helplessly at his wife.

“Bath, Takeru,” she ordered, and took his hand.

“I want to know what’s going on,” Hajime’s mother said, raising her voice.

The downstairs toilet door creaked open, the twins peeping out.

“So do I,” Tooru’s dad replied, spying them. “But perhaps not in front of the children.”

A message flashed across his screen, and as Tooru read it a wave of relief washed over him. “Neesan’s on her way,” he said. “And Iwa-chan and I need clean shirts. Excuse us.”

“Tooru!” his mum barked.

“Don’t,” he snapped as he passed her on the stairs. “Don’t talk to me right now.”

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Hajime sat on the edge of Tooru’s bed, head in his hands. “What the fuck are we going to say to them?”

“We need to play this by ear, but ...” Tooru trailed off. He stared out of the window at the area of lawn marked out for destruction. “My mother’s not going to be able to give a reasonable account of why she was so angry. She’s dug herself in deep.”

“And unearthed a fuckload of trouble for us.”

“Is it that bad?” Tooru asked.  Turning away from the window, he sat next to Hajime, slipping a hand over his.

“I don’t want Mum stressed out,” Hajime muttered, expressionless face but his eyes had hollowed. “Not now.”

“Do you think she would be? I mean, she already is, so …”

“She’s pregnant, Oikawa!” he despaired. “She needs to take things easy.” Shaking his head, Hajime rubbed his face. “I ... don’t know. She has expectations of me. They both do. Eldest son, heading for college. I couldn’t even do that right! And fuck knows what Dad’ll say.” His fingers lingered over the cut on his face.  “Or do.”

“Hajime, he loves you. They both do!”

“What if that’s not enough?” he asked, voice hollow.  “It doesn’t stop me being a disappointment, does it?”

The slam of the front door and a flurry of voices disturbed the silence. Hoshiyo had arrived, and was calling for Takeru, before she pounded up the stairs.

“Showtime,” Hajime mumbled, and heaved out a breath.

Leaning into him, Tooru cupped Hajime’s face in his hands, and tilted his chin upwards. He petalled a kiss on his lips, nuzzling them open.  “It will be okay, I promise.”

Emerging from the bedroom, Tooru greeted  his sister with a grimace.

“What’s happening? Why is Iwaizumi-san so angry?”

“Mum went a bit mental and attacked Hajime. Um, we think we need to talk to them about us. Can you ... uh ... look after Takeru and the twins? My bedroom’s free.”

“Sure.” She squeezed his arm, gave a watery type of smile then soft punched Hajime on the arm. “You’ve got this, okay, Hajime-chan?”

But Hajime didn’t reply. His face was set and stern and stiff and unyielding. If this had been before a match, Tooru would have laughed this out of him, riled him up until he was a seething ball of fury and forgotten all about his nerves. But not everything was a game, no matter how much they played.

_How many times has he saved me?_  His mind flared back to Kitigawa Daiichi and Iwa-chan stepping in before he’d lashed out at Tobio, stopping him from over-training, there when he’d twisted his ankle, and finally as a small boy when Tooru had realised what smashed plates and raised voices meant.

_If it weren’t for me, for that night after we lost, then maybe he’d … maybe he would be dating girls. He’d be … There’d be no problem. He might even have got back in touch with Ishi Tomaka._

 

They were in the kitchen, almost civilised with cups of tea in porcelain. Tooru’s Dad was attempting small talk, but no one was replying beyond a mutter.

_Showtime indeed,_ Tooru thought, and straightened his back. _Captain’s here._   He cleared his throat.

“Mum,” he began, amazed his voice was steady. “I don’t know what you think was happening when you walked in. I mean, _clearly_ you had no idea that Takeru had been taken ill, but Iwa-chan and I were about to change out of pukey shirts.”

 “I still don’t know what this is about!” his dad put in, turning to his wife. “Kiyo, you threw yourself at Hajime-kun, and you’ve cut his cheek.  It was irrational. You owe the boy an apology. It’s hardly his fault Takeru was ill and - ” He faced Hajime. “I really don’t know what came over her.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said, her tone cold.

“Kiyo?”

His mother was glaring at Hajime, then switched her gaze to Tooru. “I know when you’re lying. You assume the same bland expression your father does.”

“Please don’t turn this into a domestic,” Hajime’s mother sighed, shifting a little in her chair.

Fixing her eyes on Tooru, his mum rattled off another question. “Iwaizumi stayed with you in Tokyo, didn’t he?”  She dared him to lie.

“He did,” Tooru replied.

“My son, Ayame, lied about this.”

“It was a secret?” Hajime’s mum questioned, frowning. “ _We_ knew he was going. What is this about?”

“Tooru said it was a visit, that ‘Iwa-chan’ had dropped by because he was with the school team training.”

Hajime’s mother blinked. “You said you’d joined a Neighbourhood team, not school.”

“I have. I wasn’t with the school.”

“He stayed with me,” Tooru said firmly. “I had a tournament, and Iwa-chan came up to watch.”

“So why would you lie to your mother?” Tooru’s dad asked, puzzled. “That Bokuto character’s stayed over. It’s not a problem, Tooru-chan, unless you’re noisy, or leaving the apartment in a state.” He turned to his wife. “It was fine when I was there. There’s no damage done.”

“He slept there. For two weeks. There were three of them.”

“Yes? So?”

“In a two-bedroomed apartment. Masuru, use your brain for once!”

“Kiyo,” he laughed and raised his hands, palms to the ceiling. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about! So, one of them used the sofa, or this pair shared a room – nothing they haven’t done dozens of times before!”

Then Hajime’s mother leant forwards. “I don’t really care about Tokyo, but I would like to know why you felt you had to attack my son. It’s very simple. And I want an apology for him.”

“I won’t. Open your eyes, Ayame! See what’s happened, what’s probably been happening under your own roof.” She was breathing heavily, her eyes glittering. “How long, Tooru? How long has he been … _influencing_ you?”

“Pardon?”  He licked his lips, taking in a tiny breath as he steadied himself.

But Hajime’s Mum interjected, turning to her son.“Hajime, what is she talking about? Is this ... alcohol? Cigarettes? This is ludicrous. Okay, not desirable, but it’s hardly worth -”

“It’s nothing like that,” Hajime muttered. His head was bent, and Tooru could see him steeling himself for what was to come.

_I need to stop this. Call her bluff. Iwa-chan’s right. Now isn’t the best time and she cares about appearances. She always -_  

“Mum,” Tooru said, coughed and opened his eyes wide, adding a ‘concerned’ smile.  “I think you’ve possibly got the wrong end of the stick. I don’t know what you think has happened, but Iwa-chan and I -”

“I HEARD YOU,” she seethed. “I heard you in your bedroom back in March. I thought you had a girl in there, but then he appears from your room and - _.”_ She lashed back to Hajime. “You disgust me! You trapped him by making him pity you, for a stupid injury that was not his fault!”

And at that he held his head up, the words she spat energising Hajime out of his silence. He looked across to his Mum, inching his hand towards hers. “Mum, I’m sorry you have to hear it like this.  Tooru and I have been ... uh ...” He glanced at Tooru, then faltered. “Uh …”

“We’re together,” Tooru said, when the silence threatened to stifle them all. “Boyfriends.”

The gasp from Tooru’s Mum turned into a shill screech.“No, no, you’re not. Don’t say this,” she wept. “ _He_ did this and it’s not too late! It’s not you, Tooru. It’s abhorr –” She stopped speaking, holding her hand to her mouth, and Tooru saw true horror in her eyes.

“A phase,” his dad said, floundering. “Boys  ... experiment. It’s ...” His face had blanched when he caught Tooru’s steely gaze.  “How long has this been going on?”

“Since October,” Tooru replied. “And before the injury, so it had nothing to do with guilt or pity or -”

But maybe it had been pity from Hajime. They’d lost, and that was their last chance, and Tooru had forced the pace that night, and even if he subconsciously he had wanted it to happen earlier, it had still been him driving everything after that horrendous last defeat.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tooru waited for Hajime’s mum to react, but still she’d said nothing, hadn’t even appeared to notice Hajime’s hand across the table, so he took it himself, interlacing their fingers. “It’s not a phase, Dad. At least it’s not for me, and if you need to find someone to blame, then it’s my fault, Mum, because it was me that ... initiated everything. Hajime is blameless. I don’t think he even thought of me in that way until –” He choked and gripped Hajime’s hand harder.

“Three years,” Hajime interrupted, his voice thick. He sniffed and rubbed his nose, then turned to stare into Tooru’s eyes, his own crinkling slightly at the corners. “I was sixteen and knew, all right? I knew I wasn’t ‘straight’ and I knew what I felt wasn’t just friendship. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, okay. Mum ... please say something.”

She was dry-eyed, staring at them all around the table, and then she picked up her cup, but her hands shook too much so she replaced it half on, half off the coaster. “I knew, Hajime,” she began, soft and slow, drawing out his name so it ached in the air. “I think I’ve known for almost as long as you have. My sweet boy, so, so taken with his best friend, and hurting every day. ” A tear leaked from her eye. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” he husked.

“Because you’ve had to carry this by yourself, and I’m supposed to be the one you can confide in, who makes things better.” She tried to smile at them both, her lips wobbling, and cradling her stomach, she levered herself up from her chair. “I don’t think we don’t need your apology, Oikawa-san. It won’t mean anything, not now. Hajime, let’s go home. Tooru-chan, if you want to come with us, then you may.”

He shook his head. “Think I need to stay. But thank you.” He accepted her hug, and whispered, “Your daughter is going to be so lucky to have you.”

“And my son is lucky to have you,” she whispered back. “If it gets too much, come over, okay.”

“S’okay. Neesan’s here.”

As Hajime got to his feet, the ingrained manners causing him – still - to incline his head to the Oikawas, he gripped Tooru’s arm.

“I’ll see you out,” Tooru said, when neither of his parents made a move.

 

“What’s happened?” Koji whispered. “Is Oikawa-san cross because of the mess? It wasn’t us.”

“She knows that,” Tooru replied, and ran his fingers through Koji’s hair. “Thank you for your help with Takeru. I was pretty useless, wasn’t I?”

“You were.” Saburo clomped down the stairs, then jumped across the hall to find his shoes. “Niisan might not be at college like you, but he’s much better at clearing up sick!”

And Hajime’s mother burst into laughter. She gathered her twins to her, then reached out for Hajime and finally Tooru. “And that’s the important thing, isn’t it,” she stated, her voice catching just a touch.

“Shouldn’t we say thank you to Oikawa-san?” Koji wondered, glancing back to the kitchen.

“I think on this occasion it’s best we just leave.” She glanced around the hallway, taking a peek into the lounge, perhaps knowing this could be the last time she saw the place. “You used to love that lawn, didn’t you, Hajime-chan. I remember all those races. And buying you ice cream on the way home.”  Chivvying  the twins through the door, she dawdled a little on the step, then walked away.

“I better go,” Hajime mumbled.  “Text me, right?”

He pulled Hajime back towards him, staring intently into his eyes. “Suga once told me that Sawamura’s mother took away his phone when she found out about him and Suga. And another time she tried to bribe him with a car,” Tooru said and smoothed his thumb over Hajime’s cheek, across the tiny bobbles of blood oozing from the scratch. “Just so you know, there isn’t a car big enough, but if she does get hold of my phone, I’ll write you letters, send emails or attach notes to volleyballs and lob them through your window.”

He didn’t laugh. “You gonna be all right?”

The footsteps behind him were heavy not sharp and over Hajime’s shoulder, he saw his dad lingering in the kitchen doorway. His face was a study in neutrality, but it flicked into a grim sort of smile.

“Go,” Tooru said. “I’ll be fine.”

 

***

“Are you going to tell Dad?”

The question hovered in the air between them, muttered and mute. His Mum glanced in the rear view mirror, checking on the twins.

“If you want me to, but it might be better if you talk to him yourself.” She shot him a look. “I’ll be with you, if that’s easier.”

“Does he have to know?”

“He’s bound to find out there was an argument,” she murmured, gesturing faintly towards the twins. “And I’m not comfortable lying to him.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

She slowed at the traffic lights. “Don’t worry.”

But there was a tinge of foreboding in her voice, and her attempt at settling him only deepened the dark clouds in his mind.

_Number one son._ Was that going to change? He tried to picture his Dad when he told him, wondered how long it would take for the generous smile to fall from his face, for disappointment or perhaps horror to seep in. His Mum had accepted it, told him she’d known, and yet shock had still leeched across her face, and he wasn’t sure now if it had been masking her anger.

So many expectations. He’d failed one set. Was he about to sound the knell on the rest of his father’s hopes?

“You’re brooding, Hajime-kun.”

“Do you blame me?”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “For brooding, not really. For being ... _you_... no, not at all.”

_Gay, just say it._

But then his brothers were in the back of the car, and she wouldn’t want them to know.

“They’ve not had lunch,” he muttered. “Just some snacks. If you want to take them out somewhere, then I’ll go back myself.”

“Are you sure?”

_No._

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

She dropped him at the end of the road, then drove off, raising her hand to wave in the way young children did, opening and closing her palm and mouthing ‘I love you.’ The lump in his throat clogged again, and no amount of swallowing would clear it. How could he tell his dad anything when he wasn’t able to speak?

_Beep._

**[I still have my phone.]**

Despite his desperate mood, he lightened at the message.

**_[What’s happening?]_ **

**[Takeru’s having his bath and Neesan’s cleaning the rug.]**

**_[I meant with your mum and dad, and you know that!]_ **

**[Mum is currently in the garden doing some very aggressive weeding. Dad’s locked himself in his study. Suspect there’s another business trip on the cards that he can’t possibly get out of.]**

**_[Are u okay]_ **

**[not sure. I might go and stay with neesan until the end of the holidays. What’s happening with you?]**

**_[On way home to talk to Dad.]_ **

**[Ahh. Do you want me there?]**

**_[No, it’s fine. Mum’s here]_** he lied.

**[Call me later]**

**_[Sure]_ **

**[It had to come out some time, Iwa-chan.]**

**_[Yeah, I know]_ **

**[I’m not sure there would ever have been a right time.]**

He was thinking up a response when Tooru texted again.

**[Mind you, shirtless and smelling of puke wasn’t the aesthetic I’d imagined]**

**_[What was the plan then?]_ **

**[With passports in our hands just as we jumped on a plane for a desert island]**

**_[No volleyball]_ **

**[smelling of puke wins then. :D]**

**_[Dumbass!]_ **

The front door was visible now, the sun high in the sky and his Mum wouldn’t be able to keep the Chibis out forever.

**_[I gotta go]_** He shoved his phone in his laptop bag and with a sudden determination picked up his pace.

 

“Is everything all right?” his dad called as soon as he let himself in. “Takeru wasn’t seriously ill, I hope.”

“Sorry?”

He appeared from the kitchen. “Oh, Hajime-kun. Is it just you?”

“Yeah, Mum took the twins for lunch.”

“And you didn’t fancy anything? That must be a first.” His dad chuckled. “Well, as you’re here, you can make yourself useful.”

Perhaps he didn’t have to say a thing. Maybe his Dad could remain in ignorance and they’d continue like this, and he’d never have to see that twinkle in his eyes dull with disappointment.

“What’s happened to your face?”

“Oh.” He touched his hand to it, the scratch stinging under his fingers.

“Didn’t run into a savage cat, did you?” His dad stepped closer, mild concern flicking to worry as he scrutinised. “That’s quite a welt there. And is that a bruise? What on earth’s happened?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You look pale. Hajime, you’re not sick, too, are you?”

He took his arm, leading him into the kitchen and sitting him down at the table. “As you can see,” he said, gesturing to the sandpaper, paint and brushes on the counter. “I’m finishing the decorating. Don’t worry, I won’t make you help if you’re ill. Do you want water, or a cup of tea? I can put some sugar in it if you’re feeling faint.”

“Dad.” Closing his eyes, he let out a groan, then ran his hand through his hair. “I need to talk to you.”

“Oh... this doesn’t sound good. Is it about college?”

“Uh ... no.”

“Hmm, okay,” he replied, sounding dubious. “What’s up, then?”

“These scratches on my face.” Was this the right way to begin? But it was too late now, he’d already started, and he couldn’t rewind.

_I’m not sure there would ever have been a right time._

“Hajime?”

“Tooru’s mum did them.”

“WHAT!” Instantaneous indignation. Not questioning his son’s words, but rather attempting to make sense of them, before commonsense reasserted itself. “An accident?”

“She ... she misconstrued something. Sort of.”

“What sort of thing?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m sorry.” Choking on the words, hot tears thrumming behind his eyes, Hajime’s throat ached as he tried to clear it enough to speak.

“What are you trying to tell me, Hajime? _What_ did she misconstrue?”

“I was going upstairs to change my shirt. Takeru had been sick everywhere, and I’d been looking after him. Oikawa’s really shit at that stuff, you know?”

His Dad’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“So...” He ploughed on. “I was on the stairs with Oikawa and he ... yeah ... he took my hand, and he had to change his shirt too and ... Mum’s upstairs with Takeru in the bathroom and the Chibis are ... somewhere I can’t remember and ... Oh fuck.”

“Tell me.” It sounded like an order, but a very soft one. It wasn’t the command of a man who didn’t want to know.

“She thought we were going to the bedroom to ... uh ...  make out or something.” His cheeks flamed and it became vitally important to him at that moment that his Dad believed him. “We weren’t, I swear! We were changing shirts, that’s _all._ ”

“Yes, I can see that,” he replied, staring at the purple tee Hajime had returned in. “But why would she get the wrong idea?”

“Dad.” He screwed up his eyes, and held his hands to his face in the approximation of a prayer. “Tooru and I, we’re ... we’ve ...”

Tears leaked from his eyes, the dam burst as he waited for the realisation to sink in and for his Dad’s reprobation. He’d never hit his kids, but maybe he’d start now. Maybe the shock of this – the disappointment -would spur a rage inside of him that –

“Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Hajime, what are you trying to say?”

_I can’t._

He felt his dad’s hands on his, pulling them away from his face. “Look at me. I need to know.”

His eyes flickered open, but through the blur of tears and lashes, he couldn’t make out his Dad’s expression. His lungs burned and he took a stuttering breath, letting it flow though his body.  “We’re together. She didn’t get that wrong.”

His dad clutched his hands, so hard he winced. But then he heard the scrape of a chair, and his Dad got up walking across to the counter gripping the edge so tight his knuckles were white. Picking up a wad of sandpaper, he began to scrape at the cupboards, scrubbing viciously in one spot.

“Dad?”

“I should get on with this.”

“Dad, did you hear me?”

“Don’t you have some work to do for your sensei?”

“Yeah ... but.”

“You should get on with it,” he said, continuing to sand. “You don’t want to let Abukara-san down.”

There it was. The first rebuke.

“Like I’ve let you down?”

He put down the sandpaper, stared at the cupboard door, and then turned to face Hajime. “I can’t talk right now.”

“Dad?”

And then he faced him, questions written on his lips, but muted as he tried to find the words “How long has this ... this thing with Tooru been going on?-” he said at last.

“A few months,” Hajime mumbled.

“And you want me to process it in a few minutes.” He resumed his sanding, small intense movements and Hajime wondered if he’d wear the wood away with his anger.

He fled to his room, dumped the laptop on the floor and curled up on his bed.

***

Takeru padded into Tooru’s room when he was staring out of the window. He’d not heard from Hajime, despite sending a text and wondered what was happening. It was possible he was having a deep, involved conversation with his Dad, the kind where he’d put his arm around his son and assure him he was loved and valued, and thus Hajime hadn’t read Tooru’s message. He hoped, despite the slight bitter taste in his mouth, that was the case. Hajime and his parents worked through their problems, talking them out rather than sweeping issues under expensive rugs.

_He will call when he can,_ he thought, and tried not to fret.

“I don’t have any clean clothes,” Takeru said, and tugged on his arm. “Mummy said there were some in the spare room, but I can’t find them.”

Switching his eyes away from his mum, who was now spraying her roses, Tooru linked fingers with his nephew. “Come on, let’s see what we can find.”

“C’n I have something of yours?”

“I suppose so,” he replied, and pulled out the smallest of his shirts, an old training top from Kitigawa Daiichi. “It might be a _leeetle_ too big for you though, Take-chan.”

“It’s like a dress,” Takeru announced, not sounding as if he minded in the slightest.

“Hmm, not sure Grandma would approve,” Tooru said, “but it’s fine for now.”

Takeru knelt on the bed, starting to bounce. “Why is she so grumpy today? Is it cuz I was sick? I couldn’t help it.”

“No, she’s angry with me,” Tooru said, and sighed. He reached across and caught Takeru in his arms. “Maybe you shouldn’t be bouncing as you’ve been sick.”

“I’m better. Iwa-chan-san looked after me.”

Booping Takeru on the nose, Tooru replied, “Yes, he’s good at that.”

“I like Iwa-chan-san. Can we go and play volleyball with him and Koji-san and Saburo-san this afternoon?”

“Hmm, probably not.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not very well. Probably better if we make it another day, all right?”

“I s’pose,” he sulked, and slithered off the bed. “Can I watch television up here?”

“You can.”

“And I’m hungry,” he said, giving a cheeky smile.

With a sigh, Tooru stood up and headed to the door. “I’ll need to ask Mummy.”

His Dad, surprisingly, was not locked in his study, but in the kitchen standing by the coffee-maker.

“Sorry,” Tooru muttered, and ducked out.

“Tooru, come in. Do you want one?” he asked, indicating the coffee.

“If it’s not too strong. Takeru wants something to eat, but I can’t find Neesan to ask her.”

“She’s talking to your mother.”

Oh.

 “How about soup?” his dad continued and reached for a tin. “Sit down and I’ll heat it. Where is he, anyway?”

“In my room. Why? Do you want him to eat down here?”

“I think just this once, he can eat where he wants,” came the reply. He paused. “Tooru, this ... thing with Hajime-”

“Relationship,” Tooru corrected.

There was no flinch, but a meeting of eyes. His dad looked away first. “How can you be so sure this isn’t a phase?”

He knew how to answer this, had rehearsed it in his head. “Are you telling me you ‘experimented’, that you went through a phase?”

His dad half-choked. “No,  b-but one hears about these things, and you two _are_ inordinately close.” His hand shaking, he placed two cups of coffee on the table, then returned to the stove to stir the soup. “He’s your childhood friend, so perhaps your feelings got … uh … confused.”

He tried not to snort, keeping his voice level. “Dad, if my childhood friend had been a girl, would we even be having this conversation?”

He was silent, the wooden spoon in the pan turning one way then the other, fast at first but slowing as the time stretched between them.

“I’d be lecturing you about condoms instead, I suspect,” he finally said, adding a wry smile. “Okay, soup is ready.”

“I’ll get a tray.” As he searched through the drawer, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and schooled himself not to jerk away.

“Give your mother some time. This has been a shock, which is why she reacted the way she did.”

He left a deliberate pause before he replied. “Dad, if she knew in March, then it can’t be _that_ much of a shock.”

His Dad didn’t deny it, and spoke no more in her defence. His fingers gripped Tooru’s shoulder, and then he released him.  “I’ve cancelled a business trip. Someone else can go, so if you need me, Tooru, then I’m here.”

“Huh?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I want to support you?”

_Quite frankly yes. Although … ah … ulterior motive, of course. ._ “You don’t need to worry,” he retorted. “I’m not going to tell Mum about G-Gashuko-san.”

“It’s not about that,” his dad sighed wearily. “You’re my son, and even if I don’t understand your life choices, I do accept that they are yours to make.”

“Life choices? You mean being with Iwa-chan. It’s not a life choice, it’s what I am!”

“I meant volleyball, actually,” his Dad replied. “But there are times when I wonder if they’re the same thing to you.”

***

**[Dad is being nice. It’s freaking me out, Iwa-chan.]**

In the kitchen, Hajime could hear voices. Not raised, but he could just make out his mother’s tone, and his father’s responses or lack of them. Clipped words, muted, all buttoned down.

She’d returned an hour later without the twins, dropping them off after lunch at the park, and had popped her head round Hajime’s door, taken one look at him, and then headed for the kitchen.

**[Iwa-chan? Are you there?]**

**_[Can’t talk now. Call you soon.]_** he replied, and resumed listening.

He hadn’t known what he’d expected from his Dad. His mum’s response had already surprised him. Had she really known? Maybe that explained why she’d always tried to set aside time for him to talk, even if it had often proved fruitless. Or was that why she’d tried to persuade him to leave after Inter High? But she’d accepted it. And she liked Tooru - even if she’d been exasperated at their implacable closeness - and only that day, she’d assured him he’d always be welcome.

_But she kept hinting about Sugawara-kun? Was that to provoke me?_

“YOU DIDN’T THINK TO WARN ME?”

Shit, that was his dad. His dad who never lost his temper, rarely raised his voice. Dashing out of his room, Hajime rushed to the kitchen.

 “And say what?” His Mum was trying to reason, gesticulating with hands held high. “That I thought but had no proof our son might have feelings for his best friend?”

“That would have been a start.”

“You’d have buried it again. Told me I was being over-emotional. Blamed it on hormones, I expect!”

“Ayame, that’s hardly fair! You never gave me a chance.”

“BECAUSE I KNEW IT WOULD BE LIKE THIS. OUR SON IS IN HIS ROOM  CRYING. HE’S NINETEEN, HIRO, AND HE NEEDS OUR SUPPORT!”

“STOP IT!” Hajime shouted, his words sticking in his throat. “Please, Mum, Dad, don’t argue over this. I’m sorry, so very sorry for all of this. Please, please don’t shout at each other. It’s my fault.”

They both turned, his Mum’s face flushed with emotion, his Dad pale as if devoid of feeling. And he had no idea what he looked like, but there’d have been tear trails down his cheeks, and he could feel the pressure pounding in his forehead as he pleaded for this all to stop.

It was his Dad who approached him first, not quite holding out his arms in welcome, but looking him in the eyes, he faltered in front of him. “I’m going out.”

“Dad?”

 “I need to buy more paint thinner.” As he walked past him, their arms brushed, and he thought he heard his Dad whisper an apology, but whether it was for the accidental knock, or the situation, Hajime didn’t know.

Tears fell again, ugly sobs blotching his face. “I shouldn’t have told him. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t. He’s upset and angry with both of us and it’s my fault.”

“It’s okay. It will be fine,” she said and hugged him furiously. “He’s a good, good man and he’s always been a wonderful father. It’s just a shock for him. We will get through this, Hajime. I promise.”

Get through. It sounded like he’d failed his exams again. Failed his parents ... again.

And he wanted to believe her, but his dad had always been there, always been the calm one in the face of her fire, and now he’d stormed away leaving the pair of them alone.

As she held him, the baby kicked, stronger than he’d felt it before.

“Right in the ribs,” she whispered. “Maybe she’s going to be a kick boxer.” Her hands moved to his face, her thumbs smudging away the tears. “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head. “I'm not hungry.”

“Starving yourself won’t solve anything.” 

She grimaced, and following her gaze, Hajime took in the state of the kitchen. The half-sanded down cupboard doors, the paint dust settling on the uncovered counters, a tin of paint had been opened and the top was on the floor, paint side down. He bent to pick it up, then reached for a cloth to wipe as much of paint away as he could. If only he could wipe away the day, scour it out of everyone's minds.

“There’s some leftovers in the fridge, I’ll heat them up for you,” she continued.

“Mum, I’m fine.”

Taking away the cloth, she walked him back to the table, pushing him down into a chair, and whispered, “Let me do my job.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that was intense, and I'm not going to lie I cried a bit writing someone's lines. 
> 
>  
> 
> One more chapter to go. And then ... who knows?


	47. Dauntless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the holidays dawns. Will things be right before Tooru returns to Tokyo?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Haikyuu Wiki: 
> 
> When combined, Iwaizumi and Oikawa's first names (Hajime and Tōru respectively) form "一徹" meaning "obstinate" or "dauntless". 
> 
> And together, they are both of these.

Tooru was sat in the kitchen, listening as Hoshiyo and his dad made small talk when his mother walked in from the garden. A ghastly silence blanketed them all, only relieved by the patter of her feet on the floor and then water from the tap splashing into the sink. Scrubbing at her hands, cleaning the soil from her fingernails, her first words to him since the outburst were blunt.

“You can no longer use the apartment.”

“Pardon?”

“You can’t be by yourself any longer,” his mother said, and reached for a hand towel. “Not halls, either. Masuru, you’ll either have to move there, or we find Tooru a room in a respectable house. You have colleagues, ask them.”

“Kiyo, our son has a place to live.”

From the table, where she was nursing a coffee between her hands, Tooru’s sister looked up. “Mum, I think you need to sit down, talk this through and -”

She flicked Hoshiyo’s words away with a wave of her hand. “As you can’t be trusted alone, we must find the next best thing to a chaperone.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed at her choice of words, at the idea someone would be with him constantly to ensure his ‘good’ behaviour.

“Don’t you dare smirk at me!” she hissed.

“Sorry.” Tooru lowered his eyes, wondering what to do next because although he felt sure she wouldn’t exactly get her own way, there was still the chance she would make things very difficult for him, and Hajime, too.

“Or switch to Sendai. Then you can live here,” she continued. “This early on it won’t make a difference -”

“No way!” He didn’t care now, and raised his head to stare right at her. “I am not leaving Tokyo. Especially not for Sendai; their volleyball is shit!”

“And that’s all you care about! It’s a pastime, Tooru, one you should have grown out of by now.”

“No, it’s something I’m good at. Not just good, I fly when I play!” he entreated, knowing but not caring that he sounded melodramatic because this was hitting at the heart of everything and if she couldn’t understand that, then she’d never understand him. “It’s the only thing I want to do with my life, and I am not chucking in my chance at Tokyo because you can’t handle the fact I have a boyfriend.”

“DON’T! I’m not listening to you!”

Undeterred Tooru continued, “If you force me out of the apartment, then I’ll find somewhere else. I can bunk in with friends for a while.”

“You do remember you’re dependent on us?” she retorted. “And how would you finance yourself, pay rent, eat, buy all your volleyball paraphernalia and the clothes you like, without our money.”

He flicked a look at his dad, waiting for him to intervene, but he was in his infuriating observation mode, not saying a word.

“That’s not fair,” Hoshiyo put in. “If you cut off Tooru’s funds then he’d have to leave.”

“This has nothing to do with you!”

“He’s my brother, and you’re treating him like a criminal, Mother!” Hoshiyo retorted, her voice becoming shrill. “Just as you did me when I got pregnant!”

Right on cue, Takeru called out for her, complaining the DVD had stopped, so with an apology, she slipped out of the kitchen.

He wanted to leave, but also didn’t want to give her the satisfaction that she’d caused this, so Tooru sipped his water, and waited. He could hold out; the long game had always been his speciality, waiting for that right toss, that chance ball, and never letting go while there was the slightest hint that the game could change on a whim of a throw.

The quiet cracked her façade first as she took a deep breath and pulled up a chair to sit opposite, and when she spoke, her voice was much, _much_ softer. “Tooru, you have to see this is for your own good. I only want the best for you and this ... rela - ... _friendship_ with Iwaizumi is clearly not helping you.”  She reached over, stroking his cheek. “You’ve not been happy this term, have you? We were worried, weren’t we, Masuru?”

His dad didn’t answer, but continued to stand by the window, arms folded across his chest.

“I was only miserable because I’d fallen out with Iwa-chan,” Tooru replied after another sip of water.

“And that’s not healthy,” she said, tilting her chin as she smiled up at him. “A real friend wouldn’t want to drag you under, would he?”

“He’s not doing that,” he replied firmly. “Mum, please, I know you’re not happy about this, it’s why I never told you before, but I’m not breaking up with him, and I’m not leaving Tokyo to live here and attend Sendai.”

A sound erupted from her, a cracking sob, pain as if she were wounded, and although he’d been intent on ignoring her protests, leaving even, something in her tone compelled him to stay. “Tooru,” she whispered, “You cannot be with him. It is wrong.”

Implacable. Why did he ever believe she’d listen to him? Feeling his heart thump painfully in his chest, he got to his feet, knowing the sanctuary of his bedroom and a call to Hajime would help. “I don’t want to get over ‘it’. That would mean having to cut him out of my life forever, and I can’t do that. He’s ... it’s Iwa-chan, my friend, my _best_ friend. You know him. You always said you liked him!”

“You cannot do this. He’ll ruin your life!”

“Or make it,” he spat, and shot a glare at her and his father. “All through childhood, when you two were at each other’s throats, he was there for me! So, _fuck_ knows where I’d be without him.”

And maybe it was the defiance in his eyes, or the fact that he’d uncharacteristically sworn, but she crumpled. “Masuru,” she beseeched, “Make him see sense.”

“He’s made his choice,” his dad replied. “I doubt anything I can say will make any difference.”

“Then you’re finding your own place to live, and you won’t get any money from us! And you can get out. Now! Go and live with ‘Iwa-chan’!” She used the name as a curse, a hideous mockery, and launched herself across the room, flailing her arms at his chest. “See how much you like that, or if his parents will welcome you. Ayame might play the caring mother, but you think Hiro will like having both of you under the same roof? You’re _so_ sure about that!”

And finally, just as it looked as if the punches she was throwing would degrade into something dangerous, his Dad intervened, lifting her up and away. “Stop.”  He faced her, his hands gripping around the arms. “Tooru is not going to be kicked out of anywhere.”

“Masuru?” She blanched, far more in shock at his words, it seemed than his sudden intervention.

“Kiyo, he’s our son, not a pet dog you can dispose of when it’s stopped looking photogenic. I don’t particularly like this ‘situation’, any more than you do, but I’m not making it a thousand times worse by driving Tooru away.”

She wrenched away, casting one last agonised look at Tooru before fleeing for the sanctity of her bedroom (Tooru heard the pictures rattle as she slammed the door).

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“It might be an idea if you stayed somewhere else tonight. Not at the Iwaizumis’ though,” his Dad replied. “Your mother’s right.  Hiro is unlikely to be as accepting about this as Ayame, and even if he is, the idea is always easier to deal with than the reality.”

“I’ll stay with Neesan. You did mean it, I can still use the apartment, right?”

“Yes, you may. Although, Tooru, watching you in Tokyo, I think it would do you good to find somewhere else, share with friends, perhaps, and learn how to rub along with other people.”

“You could be right,” he replied, thinking about Suga and his flatmates.

His dad hadn’t finished. “Because next year, you’ll be living somewhere else, won’t you?”

“Um, will I?”

“Tooru, I’ve staved off your mother so far, but if Hajime-kun gets a place in Tokyo, as you’re planning, then the apartment is off-limits. I have to respect her wishes, at least on that issue.”

“But we probably will share, or he’ll be in halls, so what’s the difference?”

“Don’t push this, Tooru,” he said, and turned towards the door.

“But she’s wrong!”

“She’s just witnessed all her hopes and dreams, her pictures of the future, her ambitions for you, her dreams of a wedding and grandchildren, come crashing to the ground. I think the least you can do is back off, and try to see things from her side.”

“And you? Is this your side as well?”

“Tooru-chan, I think we lost that perfect image of each other a long time ago. I wasn’t the ideal father, and you were never a boy I could mould.” He gave him a smile, then completely out of the blue ruffled Tooru’s hair. “But then that would be boring, wouldn’t it, having a cookie-cutter family, and it’s never stopped me from loving you, however exasperating you are.”

***

**[How are things?]**

**_[Not great.]_ **

**[Want to meet up?]**

**_[Can’t rn. Mum and Dad have a hospital appointment and I’m looking after Koji and Sab.]_ **

**[I could come to you.]**

**_[Better not.]_ **

Tooru breathed, wondering what was left to suggest. They’d talked in stuttered whispers since yesterday, Hajime not saying much, but the dearth of words had cut Tooru to the quick. It wasn’t his pain, but Hajime’s searing through him.  The idea he’d floated last night, of coming over and trying to explain to Iwaizumi-san, had fallen with the aplomb of a catapulted rock, and the answer of ‘Mum says he needs time’ silenced the suggestion.

**_[Park tomorrow?]_** Hajime sent. **_[Or a movie]_**

_That sounds like a proper date._ Tooru smiled and hit the send button, saying yes, then adding **[I’m not seeing any boring monster film]**

**_[Oi! I sit through space crap all the time!]_ **

**[But you never let me snog you when you’re watching –whine-]**

**_[I can see your fucking pout from here.]_** came back the text, followed by a smiley face. **_[There’s a Star Wars marathon showing.]_**

**[Which movies?]**

**_[Prequels. And the Chibis are at friends tomorrow, so I won’t have to bring them.]_ **

**[Good, that’s three films worth of snogging. Take lip balm, Iwa-chan.]**

Hearing Takeru yell for him, Tooru sent a last ‘x’, stuck his phone in his pocket and went to find his nephew.

“What’s up?”

Takeru was scowling at the TV. “I’m bored. Can we go out with Iwa-chan-san again?”

“Not today. I’ll see if they’re all allowed to come over on Saturday.”

“Mummy won’t mind. They’ve been here before.”

“Hmm, so I gathered. But they might be busy.”

“Grandma’s then? Granddad said he’d build me a tree house.”

“It won’t be ready yet, Take-chan.”

“Oh.” Takeru switched off the TV. “Can we go anyway?”

“Um…”

“Or is Grandma still angry with you?”

“Uh … yes, she is rather. I could drop you off as she’s not angry with you, but I’d better not stay.”

Takeru shrugged. “’S’kay.” He picked up a puzzle book and a pencil, then lay on the floor as he started to colour in a picture of a sports match. “Mummy says she’s being silly.”

“Well, that’s one word for it,” Tooru murmured under his breath.

“She was rude to Iwa-chan-san,” Takeru decided. “That wasn’t nice.”

Tooru flopped onto the floor next to him, picking up a green crayon for the grass.  “How much did you hear?”

“I heard all the shouting. Then Iwa-chan-san’s mummy told me to stay where I was.  But I didn’t.”

“I doubt I’d have done what I was told, either,” he soothed, although Takeru didn’t look as if he needed soothing, perfectly content colouring in the shirts of the soccer players.

“And Iwa-chan-san’s face was bleeding. Did Grandma hit him?”

“Uh … yes.”

Takeru sighed, picked up a yellow crayon and scored it into the paper to colour in the sun. “Did he go to hospital?”

“N-no, it was just a scratch.” And a bruise. “He’s fine.”

“Silly.” Takeru repeated. His hand paused across the paper, and then he looked across at Tooru. “Mummy said Iwa-chan-san is your boyfriend.”

He gripped the crayon so hard, he was surprised it didn’t splinter in his hands. “Uh … what?” Tooru husked. “When did she say that?”

“I asked why Grandma was so angry,” Takeru said carelessly, “and she said Grandma didn’t like Iwa-chan-san anymore and I wanted to know why and Mummy said that Grandma had seen you and Iwa-chan-san kissing and she didn’t like that because some people think boys should only kiss girls and –” He chewed his bottom lip.

“And … um … is that okay with you?” Tooru broached and held his breath.

“Do I _have_ to kiss girls?”

“Sorry?”

“The girls in my class are mean. Or silly. And they have Kitty-chan bags.” He screwed up his face in the way only seven-year-olds utterly disgusted could do.

“You might like them when you’re older?”

“Did you?”

He thought about Hina, and the fan girls who’d regularly baked him brownies, or cheered him on at matches. He’d liked the attention, and he had, he supposed, liked Hina, who was pretty and smart too, but …

“I did,” he replied. “But I always liked Iwa-chan better.”

***

For the last few days of the holidays, Hajime’s dad returned to work. He said nothing apart from polite pleasantries, came home in the evenings and sat in front of the television, one hand on the remote as he flicked through the channels, only settling for something when one of the twins joined him.

He wasn’t cold or angry, but distant to Hajime, and once or twice he’d shoot him a look as if seeing him for the first time, then turn away.

Give him time, his Mum said.

And he would. All the time in the world and anything to make things right.

_Will I give up Tooru if he asks?_

No. Not anything.

 

On the Friday, Hajime was helping his mum reorganise the kitchen cupboards when his Dad returned. The early evening sunshine was warm, but not sultry, and his Dad, who’d always liked this time of day, called out to the twins.

“Koji, Saburo, how about we go and play football in the park?”

And last week he’d have suggested they all go.

His Mum stopped what she was doing, covering Hajime’s hand with her own.  “He needs –”

“Time, I know.”  Wiping out a cupboard, he tried to shut out his brothers’ voices as they charged around looking for trainers. And then the door slammed shut and all was silent again.

“He will come around,” she insisted.

But they both knew it wasn’t a certainty. His Dad was the emollient one, who soothed ruffled feathers, supported from the sidelines, and offered quiet solace when things were bleak. The schism was unnatural and raw in Hajime’s chest.

“How are things with Tooru?” she asked.

“Um, still staying with his sister. I’m going to go over tomorrow. Could take the Chibis if that’s –” He broke off. “Sorry, he won’t want that, will he?”

“Oh, Hajime, he’s not going to stop you seeing him, and he knows how much the twins love Tooru.”

“Doesn’t he think we’re a bad influence?” he asked, choking on the question.

She didn’t reply, but put her arms around him. He could feel her stomach against his as she cradled him, could feel the baby – his sister – kick out in protest at the sudden pressure.

“He loves you,” she whispered. “Never forget that.”

They continued to wipe cupboards, stack bowls and discard packets of out of date food. And although he felt inordinately grateful to his mother, for saying the right things, and not wavering in her support, there was still a hollow aching inside of him.

“That sounds like your phone,” she said. “Maybe it’s Tooru. Tell him you’ll see him with the twins tomorrow.”

Reaching it before it flipped to voicemail, Hajime answered, “Hello?”

“Hi...”

He gulped, his throat seared. “Dad,” he rasped.

“I’m at the park with the boys and there’s something wrong,” he said, his voice husky and wobbling.

“What is it?”

A silence and a sniff, and then the voice croaked. “Can’t have a ball game in the Iwaizumi family without my Number One son.”

The twins were still charging around the park as Hajime finished off a hot dog, gulping down the last bite with a swallow of soda. His dad threw their ball back, then dropped to the ground.

“Thanks,” Hajime said, indicating the food and drink his dad had bought.

But they both knew it wasn’t the hot dog he was thankful for.

“Thank you for coming,” his dad rejoindered. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Can’t pass up a ball game,” he mumbled.

Koji was talking to another boy, one Hajime vaguely recognised from school, and soon he and Saburo had infiltrated their way into another game, running across a makeshift pitch, with discarded jackets and shirts as goalposts.

“Saburo was telling me how ill Takeru-chan had been,” his dad began. “Said it was ‘rank.’”

“It was. Poor kid.”

“And you looked after him.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“And Koji was talking about the beach, how they’d been running races and Tooru had picked up Takeru when he started crying.”

“He’s seven. He can’t keep up,” Hajime agreed, and wondered where this was going.

“When we went to see Seijou, to see if they’d accept you for another year, he took them both to Little Tykes, didn’t he?”

“Uh ... yes, he did.”

His Dad opened a bottle of water, taking a glug before tightening the top back on. “And I was sitting there thinking ‘Why am I so bothered about my son having a boyfriend, when they’re clearly good people?’”

 His smile wasn’t strong, but it was there.

“I can’t say this situation is easy for me, or that I wished this wasn’t the case, but I do whole heartedly wish I wasn’t bothered, or that it hadn’t shaken me up, and ... if you give me time, then –” He swallowed more water. “Maybe I shouldn’t need time. But, whatever, you’re my son, I love you, and that will never change.”

Deeply touched, Hajime struggled to find a reply. “If it helps, it shook me up, too,” he mumbled. “I spent a long time thinking I was a bad person, not normal. He was like a star at school, and I was just this grubby kid and moody teen. I don’t know how it’ll work out between us. I never thought anything would happen, so there was no point telling anyone. I just hoped what I thought was a crush would subside.”

An arm dropped on his shoulders, drawing Hajime close, and then his Dad murmured, “A star? Really? He’s a boy, Hajime. He was goofy and bratty with scuffed knees and gappy teeth, once upon a time. Unreasonable and loud, and as full of energy as those twins. You both were. Money aside, the only difference between you was that he always had that innate confidence, and I never saw that falter.”

_It has done,_ Hajime thought, remembering Tooru’s cloying fears about not being enough, at his rivals outstripping him and how that would be the end for him, because there was nothing he wanted more than to play. To win.

His Dad was still talking. “But you have more confidence now, not in volleyball, but you seem more settled in your skin, and excited, I think.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“So _if_ that’s down to Tooru, then that’s something I want to thank him for. Although I’m a little jealous, I suppose, because it should be me giving you that unshakable belief in yourself.”

_If._

He pulled away. “Dad?”

“Yep.”

“When I tried to talk to you last week, you asked if it was about college. Like you expected it to be about that. Um, why?”

“Oh, that.” He spoke as if dazed, as if the conversation had taken place years before. “You liked writing those articles, and you’ve enjoyed your work placement. I thought perhaps you were going to tell me that you didn’t want to study Law.”

“Oh... right.”

His Dad’s soft chuckle was telling. “I wasn’t so far out then? You are having second thoughts.”

“Second. Third. A lot of thoughts, Dad, mainly about a different course.”

Sawamura’s textbooks had been weighty, but more than that, he’d flicked though them and found nothing to interest him, and he’d wondered, back in Tokyo, in Tooru’s apartment, and then later talking to Sawamura, whether he’d ever had his passion for Law, or whether it was merely because it was a stolid, respectable profession.

One his parents –particularly his mother—had wanted.

“Still in Tokyo?”

He shrugged, but feeling that was dishonest he finished with a nod. “Depend on the course. I’ll look at the options, but … yeah, I want to go to Tokyo.”

“Does your Mum know?” He paused.  “Or Tooru?”

“Tooru suspects, I think. I’ve not said anything to Mum.” He smiled to himself. “Abukara-sama and my Guidance Counsellor, Takeda-san, I think they knew from the first. At least, they’ve both questioned my choices.”

“Do what’s right for you,” his Dad agreed. “If that’s journalism in Tokyo, then good. Just make sure it is for you and not for us … or Tooru.”

He wondered how much it had cost his Dad to say that, but he still had a smile on his face and the entrenched lines on his brow from the past week had softened in the evening sun.

“I will. I know how important it is to get this right.” He sighed. “Thank you.”

“Daaaaad!” Saburo shouted, pelting towards them. “Our ball’s stuck in a tree! And we’ve tried throwing things up to dislodge it, but now Koji’s lost his shoe and my hat’s landed in a patch of nettles.”

Snorting, his Dad laid back on the grass. “I’m handing this over to my Number One Son!”

***

It was hardly the goodbye he’d imagined, but as Tooru was heading back to Tokyo the same day he returned to school, perhaps Hajime shouldn’t have been surprised when the doorbell rang.

“Danish pastries, croissants and posh coffee,” Tooru sang, and bowed low, giggling. “My word, Iwa-chan, you do look smart in that uniform.”

“It won’t last,” his Mum said, popping her head around the door. “He’ll return with the gakuran tied round his waist and a button missing on the shirt.”

“Am I allowed in, or shall we leave now?” Tooru whispered.

“Ah. Come in. Dad’s still here, but he’ll be okay.”

He hoped. His Dad was calmer, and trying hard to accept what was going on, but there were times when he was too desperate to appear fine, rather than actually being fine.

“Good Morning, Iwaizumis,” Tooru trilled, flicking his hair out of his eyes and bestowing smiles as if it were Spring and the Summer had never happened.

And although they all knew things had changed, this very obvious papering over the cracks did actually help, for with enough paper, perhaps the cracks would heal without intense scrutiny.

“Tooru-nii, are you taking us to school?” Koji asked, helping himself to a croissant.

“I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m going to drop your brother off, and then I’m speeding off to Tokyo.” He met Hajime’s Dad’s eyes. “If that is all right with you, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Yes.” He blinked. “It’s fine. Boys, I’ll give you a lift. Now, what pastries have you bought, Tooru-kun?”

“There’s a Danish. I think you like them.”

“I shall wrap it and eat it at work, thank you. Chibis, get a move on!”

“Don’t call us that!” Saburo said, scowling. He finished his pastry, stuffing so much in his mouth he resembled a hamster, then dashed out of the kitchen.

“Bye, Tooru-nii! Thank you for the extra breakfast!” Koji cried, and bobbed a bow at him.

They left, and his Mum tactfully sidled away, leaving them to finish up.

“How was last night?” Hajime asked.

“Well, I spent it at the house,” Tooru said, not calling it ‘home’. “We had a meal, and talked. Mum is ... she’s crying a lot.”

His eyes were glimmering, and he looked away, crumpling a napkin in his hand. “She’s stopped blaming you, and is now blaming herself. Thinks she was too soft on me. She ... uh ... said sorry, by the way.” His voice had begun to thicken and aware of that, Tooru slurped down his coffee. “How about you?”

“Dunno. Dad’s switching between pretending nothing’s changed, and then going into ‘acceptance’ mode. Mum’s being very supportive.” He refrained from rolling his eyes, but his Mum not shouting at him, and her offers to listen were a little unnerving. “Anyway, we should get a move on.”

“First day of school, you mustn’t get a detention, Iwa-chan!”

“Don’t take the piss,” he growled and ripped at his top button. “Fucking stupid thing.”

Giggling, Tooru finished his coffee, then bagged up a croissant ‘for the journey’.

“We’re off, Mum,” Hajime called, picking up two bags at the door.

“Have a good day, and have a safe trip back, Tooru,” she said, and gave him a hug goodbye.

“I’ll be back to see the newest Iwa-chan, as soon as she appears,” he promised her. “And with lots of gifts.”

“As long as it’s not another Godzilla,” she said, pulling a face at Hajime.

 

She was waving them off, Tooru could see her out of his rear view mirror, and lifted his hand for a final salute before disappearing round the corner. “Do you really need to be in this early, or was that an excuse so we could take a detour?” Tooru asked with a whisper and licked his lips.

“Uh ...Sorry, I want to be in early. Got someone to see,” Hajime muttered.

Patches of colour splodged each cheek. “I’m guessing I’m late as it is, but ... if I can just catch them before class starts, then that’s a start.”

“Iwa-chan, you’re being very mysterious,” Tooru said, slowing at a junction

“Am I?” Hajime queried. “I think you know what I’m doing. I saw you eyeing my kit bag.”

The lights changed, and Tooru put his foot on the accelerator, taking the road towards Karasuno High. “You’re signing up. You’ve decided then.”

“Yup. I want to play.”

“I’m glad.” Tooru replied.

And he was.

 

***

There was another two weeks until the Iwaizumis’ baby was due, but Tooru made the journey from Tokyo to Miyagi in late October.  He was skipping two days of lectures and three of practise, but this was too important to miss.  At the station, he looked around, then saw two pairs of hands waving to him, arms encased in white and turquoise. And he wondered if he should have dressed the same, but had gone instead for the neutrality of his future and wore the colours of his college.

“Thank you for meeting me.”

“You turned up this time, then?” Mattsun said, quirking one eyebrow, and making full use of his extra inches to look as intimidating as possible.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Tooru chided. “Makki, you made it.”

“Well, Sendai stadium isn’t exactly far,” he replied, then delved into his bag, bringing out a plastic box. “I made brownies. And they’re much better than any your fricking fan girls ever made.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge,” Tooru said, and helped himself to one. “What’s the first game?”

“Seijou’ve drawn Johzenji, so that’ll be fun. Mad-dog’s gonna hate Terushima!”

“And Karasuno?”

“Second match. Against Dewaichi, so we can watch both,” Mattsun informed him. He leant over, stealing another brownie and earning himself a slap from Makki.

Together the three of them walked, idle chat about volleyball punctuating their steps. Tooru breathing in the air, fresher than the city, and let Makki and Mattsun’s bickering wash over him.

He could see groups of boys walking to the stadium. Jackets declaring their allegiance in an array of colours, teal and white, purple, pink, yellow, turquoise ... and finally, clambering out of a minibus, he saw a team of black and focused on one of their players, a little more hesitant than the others.

And as if he knew (although Tooru had deliberately kept it from him) Hajime turned right round, searching the crowd, at the faces passing by them, until he caught him.

His jaw dropped, he stepped away from his teammates, then faltered as if in disbelief. Ennoshita bumped into him, followed his gaze, and then with a grin, pushed him towards his old friends.

“You’re here,” he muttered.

“Very observant,” Mattsun mocked.

“I don’t think he meant us,” Makki replied, and pulled Mattsun away. “Good luck, Hajime. We’ll be cheering for you... possibly.”

 “You didn’t have to come,” Hajime said.

“Course I did.”

“I might not play for long.”

“You’re starting though, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, not that match fit though, so there’s this first year kid that might sub for me. And Jeez, Hinata just never stops. He’s like the Chibis on speed.”

And Tooru was surprised that Hajime’s casual references, his fondness for other team members didn’t cause more than a momentary pang in his gut. “Serve twenty five aces, and then you won’t have to run around as much!” he advised, and fingered the lapel of his jacket. “I preferred turquoise myself, but black is your colour.”

“Dumbass.”

“Rude! And after I’ve come all this way, just to see you!”

The others were moving away, Ukai sliding a look in their direction and checking his watch, so Tooru released Hajime, with a sigh and a smile. “You need to join your team. Play brilliantly, my Ace!”

“Walk with me,” Hajime said. “Kind of feels odd not going in here with you.”

“Will they mind?”

“As long as you keep your mouth shut, then you’ll be fine. If you wind any of them up, then I’ll head butt you!”

“Iwa-chan, you really are mean!”

They kept pace, catching up to the Crows, but dawdling a little at the back. Kinoshita glanced over his shoulder, flashing Hajime a smile, faltering only a touch when he saw Tooru. Ahead, Hinata was talking nineteen to the dozen to a sullen looking Kageyama, while Monk-chan and Nishinoya were standing either side of their manager, glaring at anyone who so much as looked her way.

Reaching the door, Tooru linked his fingers with Hajime’s, squeezing twice before relinquishing. “Hit it ‘til it breaks!” he whispered.

“I’ll ... uh ... try.” He heaved in a breath. “Fuck, this is hard. And fuck, there’s Seijou. Jeez!”

“Oh, and I can see Datekou,” Tooru breezed, hoping to distract him. “Yoo-hoo, Futa-chan!”

“Don’t wind him up either, Assikawa!”

“Ah, that’s better. Scowly Iwa-chan always plays better.” With a gurgle of a laugh, he ruffled Hajime’s hair, then slipped ahead through the milling crowd. He could see Mattsun and Makki, but he wasn’t going in that direction, sidestepping towards another figure. And he was close, very close, but something stayed his hand from making the approach. He’d walk away, not bother, because Iwa-chan would be fine now, except ... leave nothing to chance.

What decided him was Hinata dashing off to the toilet, leaving his old kouhai momentarily alone, not even looking about him for his teammates.

“Tobio-chan.”

“Oikawa-san.” Kageyama’s brows were so tight they met in the middle.

He could feel his pulse racing and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, so knew he’d have to make this quick before Iwa-chan caught up.  “Take care of Iwaizumi, won’t you? And don’t worry about the toss evading the blockers, he can deal with that.”

To his astonishment, Kageyama didn’t snap and his scowl didn’t deepen, he didn’t sneer or say ‘I don’t need advice’ but he bowed down, and thanked him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what’s he doing now! Oikawa,” yelled Hajime, “I told you what I’d do if you wound anyone up!”

“I’m not, Iwa-chan! Good luck!” he trilled again and this time disappeared.

 

“Iwaizumi!” Ennoshita said and clapped him on the back. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Captain. Sorry about him.”

“Kageyama doesn’t look the least bothered. Oikawa-san’s come to see you play, I suppose,” Ennoshita replied, and watched through sleepy, yet perceptive eyes. “Will he be cheering for us or Seijou?”

Hajime laughed, looked around at his team, a team in black, and beyond to the colours clouding his view. He smirked at Futakuchi, who wore a withered ‘I told you so’ sort of expression, before finally finding a larger squad in white jackets with a turquoise trim. Yahaba smiled, Watari waved, and Kyoutani met his gaze with a steely stare.

“I’m not sure he knows, Ennoshita-kun, and probably won’t until we step on court and face them.”

“Need to beat another two teams first, Iwaizumi-kun.”

“Yeah, I know.” He hoisted his kit bag higher on his shoulder. “But we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has read this, left kudos and commented. If you've made it to this point, then I am truly grateful. This has been a hard slog and at times I really didn't think I'd finish, but I wias desperate to wrap up their story from when I started it in Philos.  
> I do think that if I'd been writing this series after the result of the Seijou/Karasuno match, then it would have come out quite differently, but I started Philos before that match had finished, and ... I was still not that keen on Oikawa. Research for Philos and reading the chapters/watching the anime from Hajime's POV changed my mind completely. He can still be deeply petty, but he's also brave and talented and works so very hard. 
> 
> I don't want to say goodbye to them, so I won't, but future stories might not feature in this series. Their dynamic is compelling, so perhaps I'll write some AUs. I might even slot them into some DaiSugas or Inarizaki fics (Oh dear, Oikawa and the Miya Twins ...) 
> 
> Thank you all so much. I hope this ending gives you some satisfaction. There's some closure, but it's also open to the future. Any questions, then please leave a comment ot contact me on twitter or tumblr. ALWAYS willing to talk fic. 
> 
> Much love - Carole xxx

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist Hinata having a scary moment in the toilet. I'm so sorry, bby, but it's FATE! 
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to come and yell about iwaoi, or daisuga or anything haikyuu related, then I'm crollalanzaa on tumblr and @SaekoKiller on twitter. 
> 
> I love comments and kudos and cookies. :D


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